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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

ChapTiSjCopyright No. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 








THE SKEIN OF LIFE 


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THE SKEIN OF LIFE 


^BY 

WM. R. MACKAY, D.D. 

M 

(W. RICARD) 

7 




J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
1897 



Copyright, 1897, 

BY 


E. M. Mackay 


Editors Preface 

“ ^ I ^HE Skein of Life” seems a fitting title for 
^ this book of short stories, by the late 
rector of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, Pitts- 
burgh, Pa. They are more than stories, — they 
are bits of the “ warp and woof” of real life ; ad- 
ventures, incidents, experiences, episodes which 
have come to the knowledge of our late pastor, 
or in which he and his brothers have taken 
part. 

I say our pastor,” and yet it is not as the 
man of God — strong, sincere, helpful, true, 
“ faithful unto death” — as we have known him 
that he appears in these pages. 

As such, how many tangles in the skein of 
our lives he has lovingly helped to unravel ; 
how many broken ends he has patiently fastened 
together ! 

But he comes before us here as an author 
of short stories, briefly, entertainingly told. 

Some of these are published for the first time. 

7 


EDITOR'S PREFACE 


For permission to reprint those which have 
previously appeared, thanks are due to Lippin- 
cotfs Magazine ^ Harper's Young People ^ and The 
Youth's Companion. 

The book is published for the benefit of the 
one left most bereaved, and for the five young 
daughters, whose skein of life seemed all tangled 
and torn when the beloved father was called to 
the higher life, — * 

May 13, 1896. 

“They never die who live in the hearts of 
their friends.” 

Sarah H. Killikelly. 

Pittsburgh, Pa. 


8 


Note 


S we read a story, do we always connect 



the author with it? Do we see him, a 
person gifted with supernatural power, gliding 
here and there among the many characters 
whose lives make up the little tale ; whole lives 
with their inevitable shares of joy and sorrow, 
which are their inheritance in this life, told in a 
few pages, and read in a few hours ? 

Do we see him with a key to every door, and 
the threads of the fate of all held in his hand to 
be woven as he thinks fit ? Do we realize his 
actual personal acquaintance with each and all ? 
I think the author of these little tales will stand 
clearly before the minds of those who read them, 
with the strong light of the love he has won in 
so many hearts shining full upon him. 

See, let us open the study-door and look in on 
him there. The desk crowded with papers — 
the arm-chair — he is sitting with the light from 
the window shining down on his silvery hair. 
Is he in Bermuda with Captain Johnson” ? 
The pen goes rapidly over the page. But while 
we pause there the door is softly opened, and 
two little girls run over and stand beside the 
chair. Bermuda grows faint in the distance as 


9 


NOTE 


he admires the antics a pencil has been making 
on paper guided by the uncertain childish hand. 
And he ties the doll’s sash and promises to come 
and play “ hide and seek” before the day is over. 
But they must be dressed up “ to look like papa,” 
and with a merry laugh and a soft bless their 
dear little hearts” he sees them march proudly 
away with stiff white collars, neckties, and smok- 
ing caps on their fair curly heads. The closed 
study-door is no barrier to them, and the busy 
man, with the cares few realized, the noble 
disciple of God, is to them their dearest play- 
fellow and companion. 

They have gone back to their play forgetting 
to close the door. We must go back to our 
play, or work. Shall we not also leave the 
door open so we may often in our hearts go and 
be near him ? not in the study which is a room, 
but the study of the great love he bore to God 
and all God’s creatures, feeling the lessons he 
taught us of truth, forgiveness, and faith sink 
deeper and deeper into our hearts ; realizing 
more in our heart’s communion with the soul 
that taught us, and which teaches us still, our 
nearness to that great eternal peace which is 
now his, and which reward is waiting for all 
those who love the Lord. 


His Daughter. 


Contents 


PAGE 

The Reverend Erasmus 13 

Simon Smith 81 

Kit 102 

A Brilliant Adventure 149 

The Mexican or the Tiger 177 

The Mystery of Hampton 188 

Cap’n Johnsin, of Bermuda 212 

A Close Shave 228 

The Reverend Mr. Higginton's Prize Story . . . 244 













The Reverend Erasmus 


I 

OMIT, the Pawnbroker, will occupy this 
store on April ist.” That is what the 
card in the window said, and that is what the 
Rev. Erasmus Burton read on it as he went past 
it every day. It was a new store, built in the 
sharp angle made by two narrow streets which 
came together in an attempt to make a Y, and 
finished it by going off together in one wide street 
which did the wholesale business for the city of 
Ironton, and which seemed by its imposing fronts 
and five-storied grandeur to disclaim all relation- 
ship with the paternal and maternal retail streets 
which lengthened out the arms of the Y as if 
they wanted to get away from each other as 
well as from their unnatural offspring. But the 
new store in the corner had no such idea. It 
was nearly finished, some inside work remaining 
to be done, and, with the broad plate-glass win- 
dows, which came together at the sharp nose of 
brick wall, it seemed to be saying, “ I have my 
eye on you, Mr. Wholesale, — I know all about 
you : we’ll see what we’ll see.” 

13 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


That, at any rate, was the fancy which often 
crossed the mind of the Rev. Erasmus on his 
daily walk. The corner building seemed such 
a pushing, sharp, antagonistic kind of building, 
he thought it had its eye on him too, and no 
matter which of the two streets at the angle he 
might choose, it always had one eye for him, 
and that eye always wide open, without even a 
blind to act as an occasional eyelid to soften the 
straight-out stare. 

And when the card appeared in each window 
it added to the uncanny effect. The personality 
of “ Smit, the Pawnbroker” seemed to be already 
in the empty store, as if the sharpness and cun- 
ning of its angular aspect were only the outward 
expression of the invisible “ Smit” who was to 
be its soul. It had a kind of fascination for the 
minister : it seemed to come up against him as 
he came along, and to hold out its card, “ Smit 
the Pawnbroker,” and he got to look for it and 
to find himself mentally counting off how many 
days remained until the owner of the card would 
appear and offer himself instead of it. 

Why the Rev. Erasmus Burton should have 
cared at all about it is another question. As he 
came along the street that blustering March 
day he was not exactly a prepossessing figure. 
In age a little over forty years; of middle 
14 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 

height, thin, hollow-chested, and stooping; bald 
as to the top of his head, with long, straggling 
locks at the sides; a smooth face, with mild 
blue eyes, to which spectacles gave an added 
timidity; a clerical coat buttoned up close to 
the neck, very shiny and worn, and suggesting 
a possibly frail condition of linen within; the 
coldest day in winter had not added an over- 
coat, and the warmest day in summer never 
loosened a button of the only coat he seemed 
to have. His manner was shy and gentle ; he 
took the smallest share of the pavement, and 
seemed grateful for even so much of it to the 
brisk business man or heavy-footed laborer 
going by : the whole man, in figure, in look, in 
dress, in walk, in everything, seemed to be 
offering an apology for being in the world at 
all ; and the busy travellers on the street took 
him readily at his word and passed him by as 
if he were not there, neither in nor belonging 
to their world. Even those who knew his face 
knew little more about him : they had heard that 
he had charge of St. Margaret’s, a little Episco- 
pal church of ritualistic tendencies, in the poorest 
quarter of the city, among the iron-mills and 
workshops, and those who cared to inquire further 
only knew that he had rooms” in Penn Street, 
just off the wholesale thoroughfare mentioned. 

15 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


It was to Penn Street that he was now going, 
and his queer figure turned down its narrow 
pavement, where he seemed to take up even 
less room than before, and stopped at a modest 
house which bore the motto “ Boarding” on a 
tin strip nailed to the front window next the 
door. 

As he passed through the narrow hall and 
ascended the still narrower stairs, a door opened 
below and a woman’s voice asked, “ Is that you, 
Mr. Burton ?” 

In a thin voice, which again seemed making 
an apology for being heard, he replied, — 

“Yes, madam, it is I;” and then waited as 
if expecting something more. The something 
more was only the closing of the door and the 
unheard exclamation of the landlady as she went 
back to the fire. 

“ Bless the man ! he’s a-wearing of himself out 
with them saints’ days and what-nots of his, and 
precious little saint to take care of him !” And 
she sat down with some force to give emphasis 
to her words and took up her work-basket. 
“ Blest if I know what’s to be done for him, 
though : he won’t hear to my doing anything 
for him, and he’s just that proud in his own way 
that a body can’t so much as look help at him. 
‘ I have no wants, Mrs. Brown,’ he says ; ‘ and 

i6 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


the Lord takes care of his servants.’ I am sure 
I hope he does. There he goes now, putting 
coal on his fire. Bought his own coal, and I 
b’lieve knows how much he has got, to a lump, 
— as he well may, for there’s little enough of it. 
Pays his rent always prompt, though them 
people that he slaves himself for are owin’ him 
enough. I’ll be bound, and he never asks them 
for a cent of it. * I hope your people pays you 
regular, Mr. Burton,’ I says to him one day. 
^ The Lord takes care of me,’ he says, in that 
exasperating mild way of his. It’s a blessing 
he isn’t married. Lord, what would two such 
innocents do in a world like this ?” And Mrs. 
Brown fell into silent reflection on the mysteries 
of providence in general. 

And one of the mysteries was why all the 
world did not see as she did, that the Methodist 
Church was the only sure road to heaven. 

I’m not sayin’,” she often remarked to her 
friend and crony, Mrs. Rafter, “ I’m not sayin’ 
that there ain’t other roads in plenty. I hope 
there are, and that them that walks on them 
will get there ; but to my thinkin’ there’s only 
one road that is a sure one, and sign-posts all 
the way for them as is fools and will go therein ; 
and for me there ain’t nothin’ that does so well 
as Brimstone Corner.” 

2 17 




THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


It might seem at first glance that the good 
woman had chosen a very uncertain starting- 
place for the end she was hoping to arrive at. 
But Mrs. Rafter, listening sympathetically, was 
aware that “ Brimstone Corner” was the popu- 
lar, though peculiar, title of the large Methodist 
edifice near by, and the one that owned Mrs. 
Brown as one of its most active members. 

A spasmodic twitching of the bell-wire, in 
answer to a pull outside, had ushered in Mrs. 
Rafter on this particular evening, and when 
mutual inquiries after each other’s health had 
been duly asked and answered, Mrs. Brown 
took up again with her knitting the train of 
thought on which she had been engaged when 
her visitor arrived. 

‘‘ Now, there’s that Episcopal,” she said, indi- 
cating with her knitting-needle the floor above ; 
“ I make no doubt he’s a good man in his way, 
and so, perhaps, are the folks as goes to his 
church ; but what’s the use of all his crossin’s and 
bowin’s and keepin’ of saints’ days and such car- 
ryin’s on ? Why, ma’am,” — and she laid her work 
down on her lap for a more earnest gaze at her 
hearer, — “ it ain’t no better than them deluded 
Catholics, what would burn us all to-morrow if 
it wasn’t that they’re afeard to. It fairly gives 
me the creeps to think of it.” 

i8 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


‘^And well it may,” assented Mrs. Rafter, 
who had a great respect for her strong-minded 
friend ; well it may, and it’s a blessing that 
some folks has their eyes wide open.” 

“I don’t keep mine shut, Mrs. Rafter, any 
more than I have to in my natural sleepin’ time. 
And such pictures as he has upstairs, and 
things. Why, if he wasn’t so good and gentle- 
like, and means well, I know I’d be afraid to 
sleep for a minute for thinkin’ I had a inqui- 
sition over my head, or one of them desperate 
things what I hear about in Brimstone Corner.” 

Mrs. Rafter shook her head and raised her 
eyebrows as if appalled at the supposed danger. 
She had, however, an indistinct idea that the 
figure which she had met in the hall on pre- 
vious visits was not of a specially dangerous 
order, and she now threw in cautiously a modi- 
fying word. He seems to be a quiet enough 
lookin’ man — on the outside.” 

** Outside ?” said Mrs. Brown, who, apart from 
her theology, was as warm-hearted a Christian 
as breathed, and had all her motherly instincts 
on the side of her lodger ; outside and in he’s 
as good and hard workin’ a man as there is any- 
wheres, and there ain’t no one that I wishes 
more good to.” 

“ Well, well, — to be sure,” replied Mrs. Rafter, 
19 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


a little bewildered as to the exact point from 
which Mrs. Brown was sailing ; and, not feeling 
that she could steer her own craft free in such 
uncertainties of navigation, thought it better to 
crowd on all canvas — to wit, her bonnet and 
shawl — and sail away. 

Meanwhile, the subject of the conversation 
had been busy upstairs. A small front room, 
lighted by two windows, comprised the extent 
of the “ rooms” with which a generous public 
had vaguely endowed him. A bed took up one 
side of it ; a table was in the centre, on which 
were a Bible, a Greek Testament, and some loose 
papers ; a small bookcase of stained pine held 
some volumes of The Fathers,” the “ Tracts 
for the Times,” and various books of devotional 
reading; on the walls were a few engravings, 
one of the Virgin, one of St. Anthony, one of 
St. Sebastian pierced with arrows ; and in a little 
recess was a prayer desk, and back of it, on a 
bracket on the wall, a crucifix; a couple of 
common chairs completed the furnishing. 

He had made his fire in the little grate, put- 
ting on the bits of coal with a care which argued 
a scientific calculation of how to get the greatest 
possible heat out of the smallest possible quan- 
tity, and now put a tiny kettle on the coals, and 
brought out of a closet a plate, a knife, a loaf of 
20 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


bread, a sugar-bowl, and a cup and saucer. 
There was a womanliness in the way he did 
this and in the way he made the tea in a little 
tin tea-pot and set it on the grate to draw ; and 
when he stood at the table and put his hands 
together and said grace over his simple meal, 
and cut the bread and dropped a lump of sugar 
in his tea with the same air of calculation that 
he had shown over the coals, it would have 
made a woman smile at him in her pity and 
say, “ Bless the man !” as good Mrs. Brown said 
every day. 

Not that the queerish, thin, tightly-buttoned 
figure at the table, with his bald head and strag- 
gling side hair and spectacled blue eyes, would 
have understood the pity if he had known it. 

II 

The city of Ironton is known all over the 
country for its iron- and steel-mills, its furnaces 
and glass-works, and for the heavy cloud of 
smoke which is shut in upon the city by the 
surrounding hills, and always hangs over it like 
a gloomy pall. “ A good thing to see, sir,” the 
citizen of Ironton says, warmly, to the stranger 
visitor, “that smoke means wealth and com- 
fort ; thousands of men at work and good pay 
in their pockets, sir. No clear skies and poverty 

21 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


for us, sir and he looks up lovingly at where 
the sun hangs like a round, red ball, as if a dome 
of smoked glass had been built over the city in 
view of a perpetual eclipse supposed to be going 
on above, and pretty generally realized. 

Of wealth and comfort there seemed none to 
spare on the South Side, however ; it lay oppo- 
site the main city, on the other side of the river, 
and stretching along the river bottom, between 
the bank and the hills behind, for three miles. 
The people living there were crowded into nar- 
row, dirty streets and alleys, between mills and 
manufactories which were heaped together along 
the river front and back against the hills. It 
was here that the smoke, belched out from the 
iron chimneys of the mills, and oozing out, black 
and sluggish, from the stacks of the glass-houses, 
hung heaviest and darkest ; and it was on the 
bridge, leading over from Smithfield Street to 
the South Side, that the Rev. Erasmus was 
standing on the afternoon of the day following 
his introduction to the reader. 

A boy of about twelve years was looking 
up at him; a five-cent chip hat was on his 
head; a blue cotton shirt was diversified by 
suspenders of common ticking which held up a 
pair of jean pantaloons above the boy’s coarse 
shoes ; bright brown eyes looked out from under 
22 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


thick, brown hair, and there was a pleasant eager- 
ness in the tone with which he spoke to the sur- 
prised clergyman, Where will I find my brother 
Bill ?” 

The Rev. Erasmus stared at him in per- 
plexity. Who is your brother Bill ?” 

A look of disdain and almost of contempt 
came into the boy’s eyes. Don’t you know 
my brother Bill ?” 

Erasmus glanced at him in meek apology 
for his ignorance of what must evidently be a 
well-known character, and replied, vaguely, 

I, really ” and then, as a bright idea 

struck him, “ What is your brother Bill’s last 
name ?” 

“ Whitestone,” replied the boy, promptly, but 
with an additional touch of contempt for any 
one who could think a last name necessary. 

Erasmus shook his head and turned his spec- 
tacles to the ice-cakes floating slowly in the 
sluggish, muddy stream and grinding against 
the piers of the bridge, as if light might possibly 
come from that direction or brother Bill be 
seen mysteriously among them. He turned 
again to the boy, who was still waiting, expec- 
tantly, “ What does your brother do, my lad ? 
Where does he work ?” 

In a glass-works : he’s a glass-blower, Bill 

23 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


is. There ain’t no one like Bill,” he added, 
with a pride that fairly beamed in every word. 

“ And how do you come to be here and not 
know where to find him ?” 

“ Why, you see, mother and the girls and me 
have got a little bit of a farm in Washington 
County, ’bout eighteen miles from here. Hi is 
my name; short for Hiram. Father’s there, 
too; but then he don’t amount to much, and 
we don’t usually count him. And Bill, why he 
was a good deal older’n me, and taught me lots, 
and could do most everything: there ain’t no 
one anywheres like Bill. But he went and got 
married and come down here, and does first 
rate; only, you see, he’s got a wife and little 
children and can’t help much ; and so, as times 
were hard and our farm ain’t much more’n a 
garden-plot anyhow, I just says to mother, 
* Mother, I’m goin’ to the city, and work and 
get rich ; and Bill’ll show me how, and I’ll send 
you the money, and you won’t have to work so 
hard and look so thin and tired.’ And she 
cried, and said she did not want for me to do it ; 
but I knowed it was all right. And so she gave 
me this new shirt and them pants and sus- 
penders, all bran new, and made’m for me all 
herself.” And the brown eyes looked down 
with pride on the cotton shirt and the sus- 
24 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


penders of new ticking. “And so I got up 
bright and early and tramped it in. But I got 
kind o’ lost in such crowds of people and roads 
of houses, and I didn’t see Bill, and I was kind 
o’ feared to ask the folks that was rushin’ along 
everywhere in such a hurry; till I seen you, 
and then I says to myself, “ He’ll know. I 
guess he ain’t tearin’ along like the rest of ’em. 

And so ” He stopped and looked again, 

fearless and expectant. 

Erasmus was still doubtful. “ Do you know 
the name of the firm your brother works for ?’’ 

“ I ain’t right sure. Seems to me it was 
Hussem or something. But it’s curious you 
don’t know my brother Bill.” 

But Erasmus had his clue now, and feeling 
down in his pocket drew out a silver quarter. 
“ The place you want is at Thirty-third Street ; 
Thirty-third Street, remember. You take this 
car that is just coming towards us and tell the 
conductor to let you out at Thirty-third Street. 
This will pay your fare.” And he held out the 
quarter. 

The boy took it in his hand and looked at it. 
“ My ! does it take all this to get there ?” 

“ No ; not all of it. Never mind. Here’s the 
car now and you must get on. You must be 
cold and very tired.” 


25 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


There was no time for reply, and the boy 
jumped on the platform as the car went by, and 
gave his new friend a bright, grateful look as he 
turned to go inside. 

It was afternoon and there were only a few 
people in the car, and Hi climbed up on the 
seat and knelt, looking out of the window. 
Such rows of dingy brick houses and stores, 
with saloons scattered thickly among them ; 
short side streets, even dirtier and dingier than 
the narrow main avenue along which the car- 
track ran. Uneven brick pavements, worn into 
holes and left unmended, and vying with the 
cobble-stone streets in dirt and neglect, except 
where some spasmodic householder was squirt- 
ing the loose dirt into looser mud with a hose, 
which jealously guarded the line of his particu- 
lar premises and made his special spot look like 
the half-washed face of a dirty boy. 

Great heavy wagons jolted from car-track to 
cobble-stones and back again, rattling the heavy 
iron bars with which they were loaded, and rat- 
tling every other noise deaf as they passed by. 
Lighter grocery-wagons coming and going, and 
men in working-clothes, and still the same long 
track ahead, as if Carson Street had no end. 

Then an occasional vacant lot, which was 
seemingly used as a dump-place for cinders, 
26 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


more visions of smoke-stacks and long irregular 
buildings begrimed with smoke and dust, and 
then the conductor shot the door back, — 
“ Thirty-third Street ! Here’s your place !” 

Hi got down and crossed the street and 
looked about him. Some men in their shirt- 
sleeves were going down a side street and he 
followed them. They turned through a gate- 
way into a yard, and the boy saw with delight 
the name over the gateway, “ Hussem, How & 
Co., Limited.” He went forward, and looking 
around for a moment, ran with a cry towards a 
man who was dashing water from a tub over his 
face and arms. Bill ! it’s me. Bill !” 

The man stopped and looked up in surprise, 
and then a look of wonderment came over him 
as he picked up a rough towel from the ground 
and hastily rubbed it over his face and hands. 

“Hi Whitestone! How in the name of the 
blessed fiddlesticks did you come here ?” The 
boy leaped into his arms and kissed him. 

“I walked. Bill, — walked all the way; and 
I’ve come to get rich and have you show me 
how and lots of things.” His eyes were dancing 
with delight. It was all right now, since Bill 
was here and he had found him. 

“ Well, well, Hi, — we’ll see about that. But 
how did you find me out ?” 

27 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


“ Well, I most give it up, when I met a queer 
sort of a chap on a bridge an’ he helped me. 
He didn’t seem to know much ; but he found out 
at last where you was, and he gave me a quarter 
and put me on a car, and I’ve more money left 
than I ever had before.” 

What sort of a looking man ?” 

Kind of tall, and had glasses, and bent over- 
like, and with a black coat up to his chin.” 

Bill burst into a laugh. “ That’s Giglamps to 
a dot.” 

Giglamps ? What does he do. Bill ?” 

Well, Hi, he’s in the candle business, mostly, 
and in the millinery and Bill chuckled over his 
information as if he enjoyed it. 

Candles, Bill ? and millinery ?” 

“ Yes, in a church sort o’ w^ay, down yonder,” 
and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder ; “ but 
I guess he don’t harm anybody in particular.” 

” Well, I don’t care what’s his business, he 
was kind to me and helped a feller when he 
didn’t have no friend nowhere.” 

“That’s right. Hi; he’s no bad chap, if he 
does take to candles and them things. I don’t 
know much about them myself, not havin’ a 
likin’ that way ; but come on. I’m through for to- 
day, and we can go home now, and you can tell 
me all about the folks, and how you left ’em.” 

28 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


He took down a coat from a post near by and 
led the way out the gate and towards the river, 
Hi walking proud and happy by his side. 

A short walk brought them to a row of two- 
story brick houses, which had possibly looked 
fresh and new in their time, but had long ago 
given up the attempt and settled down into the 
dirty indifference of their neighbors. Three 
children were playing in a puddle of muddy 
water which stood in the gutter in front of the 
row, and Bill hailed them as he came near, 
** Here, you kids ; here’s your Uncle Hi come 
to see you ; and a sweet-looking lot he finds 
you,” he added, as the children got up from 
the pavement and stared shyly at the new- 
comer. 

‘‘ Kiss ’em. Hi, and never mind the dirt. Jane 
says it ain’t no use tryin’ to keep ’em clean, and 
I guess she’s mostly right about it.” 

And Hi didn’t mind it ; he kissed the tousle- 
headed, dirty little faces ; he was ready to think 
anything beautiful that belonged to the big 
brother whom he had looked up to and believed 
in for so long, and, with the children pushing 
and shoving each other behind him, he followed 
Bill into the house. 

A plain-featured woman, with the lines of hard 
work on her face, making her look older than 
29 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


she really was, came forward to meet them, 
looking at her husband for explanation of the 
stranger. 

“ This is my little brother, Jane ; Hi, you 
know ; the little chap Tve told you about. He’s 
come in from the country and will stay with us 
a bit. I guess you can find room for him some- 
where.” 

The woman looked at the boy rather coldly, 
and then, meeting the frank, open gaze of the 
brown eyes, she came nearer and put her hands 
on his shoulders, and her face softened. 

And so you are the little Hi that Bill talks 
of?” Hi smiled and nodded, as if to say. 
That’s it. I’m Hi; I knew Bill’d talk about 
me,” and Jane kissed the broad, open forehead, 
and Hi was at home. 


Ill 

It was Sunday morning, and they were all at 
breakfast. Hi was resplendent in a new suit of 
fustian, which seemed to have been made origi- 
nally for a boy twice his size, but which the 
clerk in the great clothing house of Kofferman 
& Co. had assured him was a perfect fit, Just 
as if made for him.” Good stout shoes were on 
his feet, and he felt this morning that his mother 
would hardly know him in his splendor. Bill 
30 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


had found him work in picking up scraps and 
doing odd jobs about the glass-works of 
“ Hussem, How & Co., Limited,” at three dol- 
lars a week, and Hi felt that he was already in 
some way a member of the firm. 

But it was the same boyish face, with bright 
eyes, which looked up at the head of the house 
as breakfast was concluded, and the same honest, 
eager voice which was speaking. 

“ Where do you go to church, Bill ?” 

“Well, Hi, I don’t exactly go anywheres; 
that is to say, Jane goes sometimes to the 
Methodist church down here, and the kids go 
somewheres to the mission school in the after- 
noon. But there ain’t nothing to prevent your 
goin’ if you’ve a mind to. I don’t interfere with 
no man’s religion.” Bill put his thumbs in his 
vest arm-holes, and said this with an off-hand air 
of great magnanimity, and Hi looked admiringly 
at him accordingly. 

“ An’ where had I better go ?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know ; there’s the Methodist and 
the Baptist and — and, oh, lots of churches of all 
kinds here, and — there! why don’t you go to 
see your friend, Giglamps, you know ?” 

“ That’s so,” and Hi’s eyes brightened. 
“ How’ll I find it?” 

“ Nothing easier : it’s down on Eighteenth 

31 


THE Reverend Erasmus 


Street You just keep straight along Carson 
Street, and turn down to your right; I know a 
man that goes there.” And Bill again swelled 
out, as if knowing a man who went there was a 
religious experience quite above the common. 

Hi put on his hat and went out, for the church- 
bells could be heard ringing in various quarters 
of the city. There was less smoke in the sky, 
and the sunlight came through in a weak, 
watery sort of way, as if it were not quite sure 
of itself, and had better be cautious how it 
entered into unusual places; but still it did 
shine, and the silence of the mills, and the 
absence of the heavy teams and wheels grinding 
over the cobble-stones and stunning the ears 
with the jangling of their loads, gave quite a 
Sunday air to the surroundings. 

He was at Eighteenth Street almost before he 
knew it, and, turning down, came soon to a little 
wooden church standing back from the street, 
and with a wooden fence in front of it. It had 
once been painted brown, but was now in sad 
need of a fresh coat of the same material; its 
lancet windows were patched here and there 
without any regard to the original color, if ever 
there had been any, and there was an unkept 
look about the yard, where no grass had ever 
seemed to grow on the black-looking ground. 
32 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


The door was open, and Hi lifted the gate-latch 
and went up the short cinder-covered walk. 
Hi looked in through the open door and hesi- 
tated, and then, seeing a few people already in- 
side, took courage and slipped into the first seat 
next the door. 

The church was very plain inside : a strip of 
cocoanut matting along the aisle served for a 
carpet ; there were no cushions on the seats, and 
the kneeling-benches were severely penitential 
in their uncovered sharp edges. The altar at 
the chancel end made a faint show of “the 
beauty of holiness” by way of a crimson hang- 
ing, and above it on a little ledge was a large 
brass cross, and on either side of it was a candle 
in a tall brass candlestick. “ There they are,” 
said Hi to himself ; “ them’s the candles.” 

People kept dropping in by twos and threes 
until the church was two-thirds full. The little 
bell overhead ceased tolling, a young lady took 
her place at the cabinet organ, which stood on 
the right, just below the chancel steps, and the 
irregular chords of a voluntary soon changed 
into the air of a hymn which was taken up by 
boyish voices in the distance. A door at the 
side of the chancel opened, and a dozen choris- 
ters, vested in cotta and cassock, entered and 
filed to their places, while the congregation rose 
33 


3 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


and joined in the hymn. Hi got up, too ; his 
attention had been so taken with the boys and 
their vestments that he had at first no eyes for 
anything else, and he was craning his head from 
side to side to see between the people in front 
of him when the singing ceased and a re- 
membered voice began the exhortation. The 
peculiar meek-toned voice, though changed a 
little now by a half sing-song intonation, could 
not be mistaken, and, though the white surplice 
had taken the place of the closely-buttoned 
black coat, there was no mistaking the bald 
head and straggling side hair and weak blue 
eyes behind the spectacles. 

** That’s him,” said Hi, almost speaking aloud 
in his excitement; “that Giglamps what gave 
me the money and helped me to find Bill.’* 

For the rest of the time his attention was 
equally divided between the rector and the 
choristers. He had never seen anything like 
this before, and had already made up his 
mind that there could be no position in life 
to be so envied as to be one of those boys 
and be dressed in white and sing with them in 
the choir. 

At length it was over, and the congregation 
rose for the singing of the final hymn. The 
choristers, still singing, filed out slowly as they 
34 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


had come in, and as the vestry door closed be- 
hind them the last tones of the recessional came 
faintly and sweetly again as if from far away. 
Hi had stood up with the rest, and now, as the 
congregation came down the aisle, greeting 
acquaintances and exchanging comments and 
passing out into the street, he still stood there, 
looking towards the chancel until the young 
lady organist, shutting down the organ, came 
towards him in the now silent church and 
stopped and smiled kindly at him. 

He pointed towards the chancel and said, 
Aren’t they cornin’ out any more ?” 

“ Who ? the boys ? No, not this morning ; 
there will be service again to-night.” 

“ I’m cornin’ ; I ’ain’t seen nothin’ so nice for 
ever so long. My ! but they did sing nice ; it 
just give me the shivers.” 

The young lady looked at him kindly. ‘‘ You 
must be fond of music? Do you sing your- 
self?” 

Hi looked doubtful. I guess I ain’t much 
on singin’, — not that kind,” he said, nodding his 
head towards the chancel. I can sing ' Annie 
Laurie,’ and ' Massa’s in the cold, cold ground,’ 
— me an’ Bill can sing that just famous.” 

His new friend laughed and moved towards 
the door. “ Well, I practise here with the boys 
35 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


every Saturday evening, and if you would like 
to come, you can be here next Saturday and 
I will try what you can do. Good-by.” Hi 
stared after her, only dimly comprehending the 
prospect so suddenly opened, and then half ran 
all the way home. 

The Whitestone family were at dinner when 
he arrived, and his brother greeted his breath- 
less entrance with, — 

“ You seem to be in a hurry to get away from 
your church-goin’, youngster; religion don’t 
seem to agree with you.” 

“ Oh, Bill, I’ve just had the splendidest time, 
and the boys were dressed in white like angels, 
an’ Giglamps was there, an’ she spoke to me, an’ 
I can go on Saturday evening an’ mebbe she’ll let 
me sing.” His eyes danced, and he sat down in 
his excitement and upset a glass of water that 
was standing by his plate. 

'‘Just throw a little of that water on your 
head. Hi, and cool off and get the tangle out of 
what you have to say. Who’s she ? and what 
are you goin’ to sing ?” 

But Hi was too full of what he had heard and 
seen. “ I never was in that kind of a meetin’ 
before, Jane,” he said, turning to his more re- 
sponsive sister-in-law ; “ they got up an’ down 
an’ did all kinds of things, — but Giglamps did 
36 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


pray beautiful, and he thought o’ me an’ how 
I tramped all alone from Washington County, 
an’ said as how he wanted the Lord to take 
care of them that travelled by land an’ water. 
He just prayed for lots of things, and for them 
as is orphans an’ little children, — I tell you he 
just thought of everything. An’ Bill, there was 
the candles there, sure enough, but I didn’t see 
the millinery. I guess he keeps that in the box 
with the red cover, the thing the candles was 
on.” 

“ But what about the singing and the lady, 
Hi ?” asked Jane. 

“ Why, you see, I was waitin’ for ’em to come 
out again. I thought mebbe they lived there, or 
somethin’; an’ then the young lady, the one 
that plays the organ, she stops an’ speaks to me 
an’ asks me if I can sing. An’ she told me for 
to come next Saturday night, an’ she’ll try what 
I can do.” 

Bill leaned back in his chair and laughed till 
he was in danger of apoplexy. 

“ Well, you are agoin’ it. Hi. Giglamps and 
millinery and the whole outfit afore you’ve 
been here a week. Blest if I don’t think I see 
you already, with a bald head and a pair of specs, 
and a lightin’ of candles and snuffin’ ’em,” and 
Bill roared again. 


37 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


Hi looked at him doubtfully for a moment 
and his eyes filled with tears. Let the child 
alone, Bill,” said Jane warmly, and she put an 
extra lump of sugar into the cup of tea she was 
making for him. If he likes the Tiscopal 
church, why shouldn’t he go there ? Wasn’t you 
sayin’ this mornin’ that you didn’t take a hand 
in no one’s religion ?” 

Thus reminded of his liberal tendencies, Bill 
sobered at once, and, reaching over, patted Hi 
upon the shoulder. 

All right, my lad. What I says I stick to : 
you shall go there just as often as you please; 
and if you wants to join ’em and like that sort 
of thing, why Bill Whitestone ain’t agoin’ to 
say you nay.” 

And so it was settled. 

IV 

It was early morning at Mrs. Brown’s of 
Penn Street. A drizzling rain was falling 
through mixed smoke and fog, and the brick 
pavements were covered with black, slimy mud, 
which stuck to the feet like glue. A miserable, 
dark, November morning, with the air heavy 
and blanket-like upon the lungs, and making a 
man breathe out fog at every breath to add to 
the mist, which the wet streets, and even the 
38 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


houses, seemed to send up wet and clammy 
from every pore. 

The Reverend Erasmus had not been long in 
bed. He had spent the night in a wretched 
tenement in one of the alleys of the South Side, 
watching by a friendless, dying woman. Not 
that such a service was anything unusual in his 
simple-hearted way. “ The most exasperatinest 
man” Mrs. Brown had declared, ^Hhat I ever 
seen in all my born days.” And perhaps, if 
those who passed his odd figure on the street 
had seen him at such times, and had known 
how often his slender purse was opened to some 
uncared-for human need, they would not have 
wondered at his oddness. And could they have 
looked into his scantily-furnished room and have 
seen him measuring out his scanty store of sugar 
or of coal, they might have read his simple secret 
and have loved the lonely man who shyly passed 
them on some unknown mission of his own. 

He had returned home while the gas-lights 
were still dull-yellow specks in the fog, without 
any apparent support to keep them in their 
places, and had undressed and thrown himself 
on his bed, and was soon fast asleep. He did 
not sleep very long, and was dreaming of being 
tied to a railroad track while an engine was 
thundering towards him, when he became con- 
39 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


scious that some one was knocking violently on 
his door. He rose up in bed and answered, 
and the voice of Mrs. Brown replied, — 

“ Why, I thought you must be dead and gone 
to kingdom come, Mr. Burton. I’ve been 
knocking for the last half hour. Here’s been a 
man to see you, and says it’s something special, 
and can’t wait.’* 

'‘Very well, Mrs. Brown. Send him up- 
stairs and tell him to come in.” He sat up in 
bed, “a queer-looking chap,” as Hi had once 
said of him, but queerer now when his bald 
head and straggling side-locks had only a night- 
shirt below and a background of bed-post and 
crumpled pillow; but he received his visitor 
with as much equanimity as if this mode of 
reception was indorsed by the “ best society.” 

“Sit down, Michael,, and tell me what you 
have come for.” 

The visitor — an old man, who had seen hard 
work in his time, but who had gotten a leg 
crushed in an iron-mill, and who now eked out 
a living by acting as sexton of St. Margaret’s — 
hobbled in with his wooden leg and sat down in 
the chair pointed out to him. He had a large, 
round face, with gray whiskers, which met under 
his chin, and small round eyes, which seemed 
preternatu rally open for lack of any eyebrows 
40 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


above them. He put his hands on his knees 
and bent forward with the air of a man who 
brings tidings. 

We bring you bad news, your reverence.” 
He always spoke of himself and his leg as 
“we,” as if they were two independent indi- 
viduals who had agreed to go through life 
together. 

“We found it out this morning, and we 
stumped down here to tell you.” 

“ What news ? Found out what ?” 

“Why, the robbery, your reverence. The 
church has been robbed !” And the old man’s 
eyes stuck out in his eagerness. “You know 
the safe, stuck in the wall in the vestry, with 
the iron door, what we kept the communion 
things in? Well, sir, it’s been robbed, bust 
open, and every blessed thing gone !” 

Erasmus passed his hand over his head to 
make sure that this was not another dream. 
“ Gone ?” 

“ Gone, your reverence, clean robbed, and 
every drawer and box in the room smashed to 
thunder.” Michael got up in his excitement 
and brought in the emphasis with his wooden 
leg pounding on the floor. “ There has never 
been the like heard of in a Christian land as 
this here attackin’ of the Lord’s anointed. We 
41 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


have stood in Charing Cross, your reverence, 
where the blessed martyr, Charles the First, 
was murdered by them forsaken Puritans, and 
we’ve shook our fist at Whitehall prison ; but 
we never seen such sackerlege and despisin’ of 
religion as this here afore in all our life.” 

“ This is very sad,” said Erasmus, wearily. 
“ We must set the officers on the track and try 
to discover the perpetrators. I will go right 
away and attend to it, Michael. You did well 
in coming to tell me.” 

The sexton hobbled to the door. “ Traitors 
you may well call ’em, sir ; and we hope to see 
’em drawn and quartered for this blazin’ busi- 
ness, savin’ your reverence’s presence ; and we’ll 
lay our head again a punkin if some of them 
pawnbrokers don’t know something about it 
afore night.” 

The irate leg and its companion thumped 
their way down stairs, and the rector rose and 
dressed himself and went out after them. 

He thought of going to the mayor’s office 
and lodging information, and as he turned to- 
wards Smithfield Street his eyes were arrested 
by the sign in the window which he had so often 
passed before, '^Smit, the Pawnbroker.” The 
old card was gone, and the new sign told that 
the actual occupant had taken possession. He 
42 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


stopped outside the window and looked ab- 
sently at the rows of watches and the gilt 
chains and the revolvers of all sizes which were 
temptingly displayed within. Had not Michael 
said something about pawnbrokers? and per- 
haps the thieves would try to dispose of their 
plunder in some such way. He hesitated for a 
minute, and then opened the door and went in. 
Once inside he was at a loss how to open the 
subject. He must not cast a suspicion on inno- 
cent people, nor wound the feelings of the good 
man who owned the shop. He was not at home 
now as he had been during the long watch of 
the night before, and his shyness and timidity 
had come back to him. 

There was some one sitting behind the coun- 
ter, but he did not look to see who it might 
be. He had a feeling as he stood there as if he 
were somehow implicated in the robbery him- 
self, and, going up to the counter, he said, 
hesitatingly, — 

“There has been a robbery — in a church — 
and — the altar vessels have been stolen, and — 
I thought if you knew, or ” 

“ Do you take us for thieves, sir ?” 

If he had been taken for a thief himself and 
shot between the eyes he would not have been 
more startled. 


43 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


A girl of about twenty was standing up and 
looking at him. A complexion of clear olive, 
through which the red flushed angrily ; black 
hair, in wavy tangles on her forehead and falling 
in rich profusion on her neck and shoulders ; 
her lips red and slightly parted, and black eyes 
that were lighted now in sudden anger. Her 
slight, but full and well-made, figure was in a 
dress of pale blue, and a soft white kerchief in 
full folds was around her neck and crossed 
gracefully on her bosom. 

Do you take us for thieves, sir ?” The 
tones were clear and musical, and a tremor of 
indignant surprise ran through them. 

The Reverend Erasmus could not answer. If 
his Madonna had come down out of her picture- 
frame on his wall and had asked him the same 
question he would not have been more sur- 
prised. He felt the blood run to his face, and 
at length he stammered, — 

I — I did not mean I only thought ” 

And the spectacled eyes glanced helplessly at 
the girl before him. 

It was impossible not to smile, and a smile 
broke over her face as she replied, more gently, 
“ I do not understand you, sir. I know nothing 
of the matter of which you speak; you have 
made some mistake about it.” 


44 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


She was looking kindly at him now, and he 
backed his way towards the door confusedly. 

“ Yes, yes ; it was a mistake. I — I beg your 
pardon.” And he felt around for the knob and 
got out of the door and into the street, con- 
scious that those dark eyes were following him 
and still smiling. 

All the way to the church they followed him. 
They were with him as he examined the vestry- 
room and looked in vain for a clue among the 
broken drawers and boxes and torn papers 
which littered the floor. They were with him 
all day, as, after setting the officers on the track, 
he went on his sick calls and attended to his 
various duties. Go where he would and do 
what he might, they were still with him and 
looking in at him, with a shadowy outline of 
blue and of soft white muslin on invisible 
shoulders below him, and always smiling. 

When he reached his room that night they 
were following him still. He took down one 
of the “ Lives of the Fathers” from his scanty 
shelves and tried to read; but the dark eyes 
kept looking up at him from every page, and 
the dark, heavy hair would come between him 
and his book and blur the words with its rich 
tangles. He closed the book at last and pushed 
it from him ; for the last fifteen minutes he had 
45 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS . 


not consciously read a word. He glanced up 
mechanically, and his eyes fell on St. Sebastian 
on the wall, pierced with arrows. It was horri- 
bly literal, and somehow he did not find it a 
pleasant object just now. Then his eyes wan- 
dered to the Sistine Madonna with the child in 
her arms, and the dark eyes of the morning 
were there again. She, too (he thought to him- 
self), she, the Madonna, had been a Jewess, and 
must have been once a young girl, a daughter 
of Israel, with the same soft light in her eyes 

and the same smile about her lips — and 

This would never do. He got up with a 
strange trembling on him. It was a new experi- 
ence, and he did not understand what had come 
over him. Women, to him, had been abstract 
beings, sisters of humanity who only touched 
the outermost circle of his life : the “ Lives of 
the Fathers” had taught him to think of them 
as creatures once fair and beautiful, but who had 
lost their first estate through sin and had 
brought all evil into the world, and now were 
atoning for that grievous fault and winning 
back their way to Paradise by suffering and by 
deeds of charity and alms. But this abstract 
being, whose soul he had been trying to help 
regain lost joys, had suddenly appeared in flesh 
and blood and warm beauty, — and, strangely 
46 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


enough, no thought of saving her soul had 
once occurred to him. She had broken through 
into the innermost circle of his thoughts, and 
the dead “ Fathers” had been utterly vanquished 
and put to rout by the dark, living eyes which 
looked up out of their words and belied them 
with a living loveliness. His lonely life had 
never known such a visitor before, and he was 
frightened at the strangeness of this unknown 
and unexpected coming. There she was with 
the fair cheek and the dark eyes and the soft, 
white folds that were crossed upon her bosom ; 
she did not seem to be outside him but to have 
become a part of himself, living inside of his 
consciousness and not to be torn away. He 
could hear her speak, and the tones of her voice 
came back to him and repeated themselves over 
and over. 

Why did she come back to him ? What did 
it mean that he could not think of anything 
else to-night? He walked up and down, up 
and down the little room ; and Mrs. Brown, 
down-stairs, put out the light at last and went to 
bed, with some misgiving as to the sanity of her 
lodger, whose tireless walking to and fro had 
never before disturbed the silence of the house 
in Penn Street. 

By a curious coincidence the fates had ruled 
47 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 

that the object of his thoughts should also be 
thinking of him. For a little while after he had 
gone, a smile at his odd appearance and at the 
remembrance of his confusion would flit across 
her face as she went on with the crocheting 
which his coming had interrupted ; but she had 
forgotten all about him, until the evening 
brought him suddenly to her mind. She had 
come into the shop to look for a crochet-needle 
which she had dropped or mislaid, when she 
was attracted by the shuffling manner of a cus- 
tomer with whom her father was dealing. He 
had a slouch hat drawn down low over his eyes, 
and the eyes and every movement of the man 
betrayed an alert watchfulness. He had laid a 
small and worn morocco-covered box on the 
counter and had his hand still on it as the pawn- 
broker was speaking. “ No, sir, we never touch 
anything of the kind. We deal only with 
private customers, and must have a guarantee 
with every sale.” The fellow shuffled again un- 
easily, and was drawing the little box towards 
him, when the girl made a swift step forward 
and took it from his hand and looked at the 
silver plate upon the cover. She had only time 
to read the words upon the plate — "‘St Mar- 
garet’s Church. From Rev. Erasmus Burton” — 
when the man hastily seized it from her and 
48 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 

went quickly through the door. Another man, 
who had been lounging against the window and 
peering in, joined him as he came out and the 
two went rapidly around the corner. In another 
instant the door had closed again behind the girl 
flying impetuously after them. But the god of 
thievery seemed against her ; as she turned the 
sharp corner of the building she ran against a 
boy coming as rapidly in the opposite direction. 
The shock knocked the breath out of her for a 
moment, and she could only point after the men 
and gasp, “ They robbed St. Margaret’s.” The 
words seemed to act like magic on the dazed 
faculties of the boy, and he was across the 
street and after them before she could speak 
again. They went up Sixth Avenue and turned 
into Bedford Street, going on a half run and 
carrying what looked like a heavy basket be- 
tween them. The pursuer gained fast upon 
them, and, hearing the rapid footsteps behind 
them, they turned down a dark court into one 
of the worst quarters of the city ; it was a sud- 
den move on the part of one of them and took 
the other unprepared, and as they turned from 
the street one of the men slipped and fell and 
almost dragged down the other with him. They 
got up again with mutual curses, and when the 
boy reached the spot where they had fallen, they 
49 


4 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


were nowhere to be seen. He stood still, and 
for the first time realized his danger. The light 
from the gas-lamps was none too brilliant on 
the street where he was standing, and the court 
below looked dark and dismal. The passers-by 
were few and far between on this lower end of 
the street ; and the boy was feeling a creeping 
sensation along the spine, when a gleam of some- 
thing shining caught his eye, and he stooped 
and picked up the little, black, morocco box 
which held the private communion service of 
St. Margaret’s. 

He hugged it close under his arm and started 
down the hill, looking often behind him as he 
walked and ran, and talking half aloud to him- 
self in his eagerness. When he reached Smith- 
field Street he stopped, in doubt as to his next 
proceeding, and then hastily went on and 
stopped again by the window where his even- 
ing adventure had had such an unexpected be- 
ginning. He looked inside, and seeing an old 
man behind the counter, opened the door and 
walked in. 

“ I want to see the young lady.” 

The old man looked up. “ Eh ? What is 
it ?” 

“ I want to see the young lady, her with the 
black hair, as most knocked me down.” 

50 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


The man gazed at him curiously for a minute, 
and then opened an inner door and called, — 

“ Rebecca ! daughter ! Here is some one to 
see you.” 

Two voices, one of them the clear tenor of a 
man singing a duet in a room near by, stopped 
suddenly at the call ; and in a moment more the 
girl entered. She came in with the quick, firm 
step, and independent carrying of the head 
which seemed habitual with her, and the boy 
held out the box with triumph in his eyes. 

I got it, miss ; they was too sharp for me 
an’ got away, but they fell down an’ dropped 
this much anyway, an’ I thought I’d come an’ 
tell you, bein’ as you had the rights to it, you 
know.” 

She took the box into her hands, and opened 
it to make sure that its contents had not been 
disturbed, and looked at him with a pleasant 
smile. You are a bright, good boy,” she said. 

Yes, you were right in coming back to me. 
I wanted to know all about it, and the gentle- 
man who had lost it was here to-day. Now, do 
you know where to take it ?” 

“ Know ? Me ? Well, I rather think I do. I 
was hurryin’ to him when you ran into me. 
I’m a choir-boy at his church, — Hi Whitestone 
is my name.” 

51 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


“ And you will take it safe to him ?” 

Yes’m,” he said, brightly, — safe’s a bank.” 

She put her hand under his chin and lifted 
his face and looked into it. ‘‘Yes,” she said, 
slowly, “ I think you will. But,” as a sudden 
thought crossed her, “ no, — leave it with me to- 
night, and come for it to-morrow. You won’t 
mind leaving it with me ?” 

‘‘ Not a bit,” he replied, promptly, and put out 
his hand. “ Good-night, miss ; I’ll come for it 
to-morrow. He’ll be awful glad to get it.” 

She opened the box again when he had gone 
and curiously examined the little vessels. “ They 
have such strange ways, these Christians,” she 
said to herself, as she carefully replaced them in 
their velvet fastenings. 

“ What will you do with it, Rebecca ?” Her 
father had been looking on, and now interrupted 
her meditations. 

“ Send it back to him to-morrow,” she said, 
with a laugh, as the occurrence of the morning 
again crossed her mind. “ I frightened him so 
badly that I owe him some amends, and this 
will be my peace offering.” She held it out in 
mocking seriousness as if delivering it then and 
there, and left the room, still laughing gayly. 

Hi had a great story to tell the family of 
Whitestones that night. The adventure lost 
52 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


nothing in his way of telling it : an’ Bill, she 
was just the handsomest young lady you ever 
seen, and her way of speakin’ is just lovely! 
My, she’d have made a beautiful chorister, — if 
she’d only been a boy I” 


V 

At ten o’clock next morning the Reverend 
Erasmus was sitting before his little table with 
his eyes fixed on a certain morocco box which 
lay there, with the lid open and thrown back on 
the little hinges. It had been left at the door 
early in the morning by a little boy, — so Mrs. 
Brown had told him, — with directions to give it 
to him when he was up. And now he had gotten 
it, and for the last half-hour had been sitting just 
so and looking at it. But there was nothing 
about the box itself, nor in the tiny paten and 
chalice of silver within it, to draw his eyes to ob- 
jects so familiar : they were fixed upon a little 
piece of paper, cut square to fit inside, and laid 
upon the chalice and paten so as to be seen when 
the box was opened. The little square contained 
a few lines written in a clear, but distinct femi- 
nine hand : 

Dear Sir : 

A happy accident has led to the recovery of a 
part of your property. It is due much more to 
53 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


one of your choristers than to me, but I have 
reserved to myself the pleasure of returning it, 
as part atonement for what I fear was my rude- 
ness to you yesterday. 

Rebecca.” 

He read it over so often that he knew it by 
heart. It was so kind of her,” he thought, ” so 
good and thoughtful ; and what a brute he had 
been to speak to her in that rough way !” He 
imagined himself as having gone in roughly and 
violently accusing her of the robbery, and yet 
she had smiled at him in answer, and how like 
an angel she now covered his rudeness by so 
kindly taking all the blame. Yes,” he said to 
himself, “ like an angel.” And then he put the 
box to one side of the table, taking it up very 
gently and carefully, as if a new value had come 
upon it, and took out some writing-paper with 
the thought that he must send a reply. But he 
could not frame one to his mind. He began a 
dozen different epistles, — “ Dear Miss,” — Dear 
Madam,” — “ Dear Miss Rebecca,” — that looked 
too familiar. He tore up the whole half-dozen, 
not getting any further than these helpless open- 
ings, and having no clear idea of what he wanted 
to say. The fair face that he had seen but that one 
time and which was glorified by the halo which 
54 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


his own thoughts had thrown around it was still 
vividly present to him ; the piece of paper which 
her hands had touched, the words which she had 
really written, it was all like a rosy cloud upon his 
brain, — and he pushed his paper and pen away. 

How long it seemed since yesterday : could 
it be only one day, in which he had seemed to 
have lived a lifetime already? Yes, only one 
day ; and there was work to be done in the day 
now before him. He got up and put on his hat, 
and stopped before the little looking-glass on 
the wall. It was not a very reputable hat which 
he saw there : it was worn and weather-stained, 
and had an ugly dent in front. He took it off 
and brushed it, and put it on again with the 
dent behind : it did not fit so well, but it looked 
better. ^*1 must really get another hat,” he 
said to himself; “ I had no idea it was so shabby; 
and my coat is looking rusty, too. It won’t do 
to look so poorly before the people of St. Mar- 
garet’s, — they might be ashamed of me.” He 
looked at himself wistfully again, and then 
took up the little piece of paper and folded it 
carefully and put it in the inside pocket of his 
coat, — putting his hand in twice afterwards to 
make sure that it was actually there and had not 
slipped outside it, — then went down the stairs 
and out upon his way. As he turned from 
55 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


Liberty Street into Smithfield he tried to look 
unconcernedly into the plate-glass window. The 
look in itself was a dismal failure, and would 
have been wasted at the best, for there was no 
one there ; but for the rest of his walk there was 
a new and curious air of independence about the 
‘‘priest-in-charge” of St. Margaret’s, as if there 
was some new dignity to be supported and peo- 
ple would expect him to hold his own. 

It seemed as if some one was always sick in 
that South Side parish. Just now it was diph- 
theria which was raging, and in this year of 
grace i8 — it was claiming more victims than 
the yellow fever had claimed at Memphis in the 
fatal summer of the year before. Scores of 
tenements had been built on land made of the 
cinders of the mills and furnaces, and porous as 
a sponge. The streets were dirty and neglected, 
the alleys reeking with foul smells, the people 
for the most part ignorant of the simplest rules 
of sanitary science. A broad invitation to the 
law of disease to come freely and work its will 
could not have been more plainly and urgently 
given than it was given on every hand. And 
the law of disease did its business unerringly. 
The doctors were worked to the limit of en- 
durance; old and young fell alike before the 
scourge, and black or white crape on the doors 
56 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 

of the crowded, ill-kept houses was so common 
a sight that a new draping on door-knob or 
door-bell hardly caused remark from passers- 
by. People seemed to have accepted it as the 
natural and necessary condition of affairs, — a 
part of the eternal fitness of things.” There 
was an apathy about it that was more awful 
than the fell disease. Day after day Erasmus 
had worked among his stricken people, had 
prayed with them and watched them and 
tended them, and it was into one of the houses 
with white crape on the door that he now en- 
tered. He could hardly get into the room, 
which opened from the street, so crowded was 
it with women, and he saw with alarm that sev- 
eral had their children in their arms. A little 
white coffin was in the centre of the room, and 
seated on chairs near it were the father and 
mother, with their children of various ages clus- 
tered around them and crying. The air was 
close and heavy, and the windows were shut 
tight, with the curtains down. A little light 
came through into the room from the hall be- 
hind, and by that light the rector read the 
solemn service, standing at the coffin’s head. 
It was a common scene, sad because so com- 
mon, and there was nothing to call for a special 
word. But when the service was over and he 
57 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


saw the women coming forward and holding 
down their children that the little ones might 
kiss the lips of the dead child, he spoke sharply 
and sternly, “ Do you want to kill your chil- 
dren? Don’t you know better than to have 
them here at all, without making them take 
death on their lips from a dead child ?” 

They looked at him, frightened at first, and 
then indignantly, as if he were lacking in the 
common feelings of humanity, and muttered to 
each other as they went away. Then he moved 
back into the hall behind him, and feeling a 
touch upon his arm turned questioningly. 

“ I thought I’d see you here, sir. The under- 
taker who buried mother has been asking for 
his money, and I’ve tried hard for work and 
promised him the first I’d make ; but he says he 
can’t wait, sir. There’s so many calls on him 
just now.” 

Erasmus took out his meagre pocket-book. 

I haven’t much, Jim.” A momentary thought 
of the new hat came over him, and then he 
quietly emptied out his little treasure. “ It will 
help you a little, and the man must wait for 
more.” 

“ Thank you very much, sir. I’ll pay it all 
back as soon as I get work. But things go 
against me, somehow.” 

58 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


The rector looked again into the room. ** It is 
hard times for them all, these days, Jim,” he said. 

‘‘ They’re dying off fast, sir, and nobody seems 
to care. If it was horses that was dying on the 
South Side as fast as people, there would soon be 
a stir, and the whole city would be talking about 
it. But human souls don’t seem to make no 
difference ; they don’t lose no money by them.” 

The pale face of the young man grew paler still 
as he was speaking, and there was a glow in his 
eyes which told of the smouldering fires below. 

Erasmus was startled by the intensity of the 
tone and turned to look at him, but Jim had 
turned away and was moving through the 
crowd. But it started him thinking, and he 
was thinking of it still when the lid of the little 
coffin had been screwed down and one more 
procession had been added to the many gone 
before. 

But the troubles of the day were not yet 
over. He had gotten back to his room after 
the long ride to and from the cemetery, and 
was at his frugal supper, prepared, as usual, by 
his own hands, when a double ring, as if the old 
bell had suddenly gone crazy, came at the door 
below. He listened expectantly, and was not 
surprised when he heard Mrs. Brown ascending 
the stairs and heavier footsteps following. He 
59 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


hastily put his supper away, and, in response to 
his “ Come in,” a stranger entered. He was a 
tall man, broad-shouldered and strong, with a 
frank, open face, and dressed in workman’s 
clothes. 

I have come to see you, sir, about some- 
thin’ particular.” 

“Yes,” said Erasmus, and he pointed to a 
chair. “ Sit down, and I will do what I can for 
you.” 

“Thank you, sir, but I’ll not sit down. I 
take it, you are the minister of St. Margaret’s ?” 

“ Yes, I am the minister.” He waited for the 
next step to be taken, but the man stood un- 
easily, twisting his soft hat in his hands. 

“ Well, you see, sir. I’m not much in a re- 
ligious way myself, not havin’ a fancy that way, 
particular; but Hi says to me, ‘You go and tell 
him, Bill,’ says he, ‘ and he’ll come.’ I’m Hi’s 
brother Bill, and he’s been took with diptheery 
sudden, and ” 

But Erasmus had already got his hat on, 
taking it hastily from the nail on which it hung, 
and careless now as to which side the dent 
might be. 

“ Come away, at once ; we will take the cars 
and go faster.” 

They went out together, and in half an hour 
6o 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


were at Bill Whitestone’s door. As they came 
into the room the sick boy’s eyes lighted up 
with pleasure. “ I knew you’d come, sir,” he 
said, faintly ; and as the rector sat down by the 
bed and took the little hand in his, “ my throat 
is very bad, sir. I’m afraid I can’t be with the 
boys an’ sing on Sunday.” 

‘‘That’s what he’s been a-sayin’ over and 
over,” said Bill ; “ and you won’t mind my not 
stayin’ ; it kind o’ gives me a lump in the throat 
to hear him.” 

The Reverend Erasmus bent kindly over the 
sick lad and smoothed the hair from his fore- 
head. “ Never mind, my boy ; you can sing in 
your heart, you know, and the Lord will hear 
you. And we will pray the Lord in his mercy 

to give you back to us, and ” The poor 

minister felt his own voice breaking, and he fell 
on his knees and put his face on the hand of the 
child which he was still holding. It had been a 
hard day for him, and he was very heart-sore 
now. 

All through the night he watched by his little 
friend. Hi slept at intervals, starting uneasily in 
his sleep and moaning. Bill came twice to the 
door to hear how “ little Hi” was doing, and 
Jane came several times into the room and 
wanted to share the vigil. But he put them 

6i 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


gently away, and said that he could do it well 
alone and knew just what must be done. So 
they thanked him at last and said good- night, 
and left him with his little chorister. 

And if in that long watch as the night wore 
away he thought of the event of the morning, 
who can blame him? And if he felt in that 
wide pocket and took out the note and read 
again what he knew so well already, who still 
can blame him ? 

And so the different lives which a little while 
before had been so far apart were drifting closer 
together. 

VI 

When morning came. Hi was still tossing 
feverishly. The doctor again came and exam- 
ined him, and in reply to anxious questions shook 
his head ; he could promise nothing. Erasmus 
gave his place to Jane and lay down upon a 
lounge in the room below : he was more tired 
than he would have been willing to confess, and 
he was soon sleeping heavily. 

At noon he was roused by Bill, who had come 
home to dinner and had just come from the 
sick-room : “ Hi is askin’ for you, sir.” He got 
up and went upstairs.” The boy^s face lighted 
with a smile as he came in, and when he had 
taken his hand he drew him down to him and 
62 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


whispered, ''Do you think she would come, 
sir, if I asked her ? IVe been dreamin’ of her 
all night.” 

" Who is it, Hi ? Whom shall I send for ?” 

The boy spoke with difficulty. " The young 
lady, — the one as sent the box.” The rector of 
St. Margaret’s looked at him in surprise and a 
strange feeling passed over him : " Yes, Hi ; I 
will send for her, and perhaps she will come.” 
The boy looked at him gratefully, and he went 
down-stairs and asked for pen and paper. There 
was no sign of hesitation this time as he dipped 
the pen in the ink : 

"Miss Rebecca: 

" The little boy whom you sent with the box 
and who has taken a great fancy to you, is 
very sick and wants to see you. If you can 
gratify him, please come with the bearer ; but 
you should know in advance that the disease is 
diphtheria. 

" Very truly yours, 

"Erasmus Burton.” 

It was despatched by one of the little White- 
stones, and two hours passed away without 
reply. Would she come ? Would she think it 
worth her while to gratify the wish of a sick 

63 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


child? or would she be afraid to risk herself 
with a disease so fatal ? At every noise of foot- 
steps on the street below the sick boy would 
lift his head and look eagerly towards the door ; 
and at length the street-door opened and shut ; 
there were voices on the stairs, — and then Re- 
becca had entered and was standing by the bed. 
She was dressed in black, with a deep white col- 
lar about her neck ; a little Quaker-like bonnet, 
peaked in front and lined with pale rose-color, 
was on her head, and her hair was gathered in a 
heavy knot behind. 

“ I have come to see you. Hi,” she said, in 
her clear, soft tones ; “ they told me you wanted 
to see me.” 

The boy’s eyes were fastened on her face. 
‘‘Yes, miss. I took the box all right. The 
woman said she’d give it to him.” He turned 
his eyes towards the window as he spoke, and 
Rebecca turned her head to follow them. 
Erasmus was standing by the window. He had 
been picturing her to himself for those two 
hours, recalling her face as his memory had 
painted it on his mind ; but she was lovelier to 
him than even he had thought her as she came 
in at the door ; and her easy, graceful motion 
as she crossed the room, and the low, sweet 
voice and manner as she spoke to the sick boy, 
64 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


completed the infatuation which possessed him. 
She smiled a recognition as their eyes met, and 
she bowed slightly to him, while the blood 
rushed to his face and he made a half step for- 
ward, and stopped awkwardly. She did not 
seem to notice his confusion, and said, quietly, 
‘‘ I am much obliged to you for sending for me. 
I took a liking to the boy, and am glad to please 
him so easily.” 

He found his voice in time to answer her, 
looking at her very much as Hi had looked at 
her a moment before. “ It was very good of 
you. He is a favorite of mine” (he felt as if a 
new and strong link were between them in her 
liking for his favorite chorister), “ and — and I 
know he is glad to see you.” 

She smiled again ; she was thinking how odd 
and quaint he looked, and wondered why he 
should be so shy and awkward. And then she 
sat down by the bed and took the sick child’s 
hand in hers, as he had taken it in his before, 
and stroked it gently with the other, soothing 
him in soft, low tones. It was as if there was 
no other person there. 

Hi kept his eyes upon her face until he gradu- 
ally dropped asleep ; and then she gently put 
his hand away and rose up quietly. The figure 
by the window had not moved ; he had not lost 
5 65 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


her simplest action nor the faintest turning of 
the graceful head, — he would never forget that 
scene. But now, as she rose to go, his shyness 
came back to him, and the man who was not 
afraid of death and faced it calmly every day, 
felt himself trembling before this young girl. 
“ I think I can go, now,” she said, dropping her 
voice to a whisper, he seems to be sleeping 
soundly.” 

“Yes,” he answered, with a sudden dryness 
in the throat which seemed to take away the 
power of utterance ; “ I will always remember 
your kindness.” 

She made a little deprecating gesture, — “ It 
was nothing. I’m glad I pleased the bqy.” 

He held the door open for her to pass 
through, and the rustle of her dress on the 
stairs made his heart beat faster, — he had never 
noticed the sound of any woman’s dress before. 
He heard her stop in the hall below and speak 
to Jane and say a pleasant word to the little 
ones, and he heard the hall-door close behind 
her ; and when he went back into the room it 
seemed empty and lonely, and yet with a sacred- 
ness about it which no other room had ever had, 
— so strangely had one woman’s presence a 
power to change the world in which he lived. 

At four o’clock the doctor came again, and 
66 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


this time spoke more hopefully. “ He will pull 
through now, I think ; he has taken a turn for 
the better.” And they all thanked him and felt 
as if a great weight had been lifted all at once, 
and no news had ever come so welcome as those 
cheery words, and he had a physician’s best 
reward in the light, grateful hearts he left 
behind him. 

And Bill Whitestone must have the rector to 
stay to tea. “ It ain’t no use talkin’,” he had said 
privately to Jane ; “ this minister has got the 
real stuff, and there ain’t no back-down about 
him. He don’t waste his time in talkin’ pious 
to a fellow, but just puts on his hat and goes 
straight to business. You ask him to have sup- 
per before he goes.” And so it happened that 
he staid; and Bill, who certainly had no half 
ways about him, shone at his best, and told 
stories of Hi and the farm, laughing uproari- 
ously at his own anecdotes, and once or twice 
rubbing his eyes across his sleeve as he told of 
Hi’s devotion to himself, and thought of the 
pale, little face upstairs. And Jane smiled 
sympathetically, leaving her place at the table 
every little while to run up and see that Hi 
wanted nothing; and the young Whitestones 
acted as chorus and crowed enthusiastically at 
the stories of Hi’s exploits. 

67 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


“ Yes, sir,” said Bill, “ he was always a queer 
one. One time at school, the school-marm was 
askin’ for deerivities of words or somethin’ : 
‘ What is the deerivitive of Man ?’ she says ; and 
they all said, ^ Manly.’ ^ And what is the 
deerivitive of dog ?’ she says ; and Hi, he speaks 
up bold and ‘ Pups,’ he says ; and, my sakes ! 
how they all laughed, — and if they didn’t call 
him ‘ Pups’ for more’n a month afterwards.” 

The Whitestones junior fairly yelled at this, 
whereupon their father cuffed the ears of the 
one nearest him and wanted to know “ if they 
was a-runnin’ a circus, or what was they thinkin’ 
of when Hi was sick up-stairs.” They became 
unnaturally sober in an instant ; but when the 
youngest gulped out Pups” again under his 
breath, they got red in the face and choked and 
gurgled, keeping one eye on their paternal an- 
cestor and watching his face for a signal to let 
go and save themselves from bursting. “ Such 
carryin’s on,” said Bill, severely, proud of his 
attempts to entertain ; one’d think you was no 
better than little cannerbuls !” But Hi was to 
get well, and they were all infected with a desire 
to laugh about nothing, and there was a very 
merry tea-party in the glass-blower’s home. 

When Erasmus got away at last, the night 
was dark and overcast with heavy clouds. It 
68 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


was not easy to tell whether the banks of smoke 
were hanging more heavy than usual, or 
whether a storm was close at hand ; but before 
he was half-way home the rain began to fall, 
and it was pouring steadily as he crossed the 
bridge to the main city. He had no umbrella, 
and being fairly wet before a street-car overtook 
him, he decided to plod on in the rain. 

But it came down with a more persistent 
steadiness than he had counted on, and he was 
soaked through when he turned the corner of 
Smithfield Street towards the shelter awaiting 
him at Mrs. Brown’s. 

The light from the broad plate-glass windows 
at the corner was streaming out upon the wet 
pavement, and he stopped for a moment and 
looked in. He did not stop long. It was a pity that 
he stopped at all, — a pity that he should have seen 
the sight he saw there, that it might not have 
come to him in some easier and gentler way. 
Rebecca was standing in the middle of the floor, 
dressed as he had seen her in the afternoon, ex- 
cept that the Quakerish little bonnet had been 
laid aside. In front of her stood a young man, 
tall and straight, with dark hair and moustache, 
and bright, laughing eyes, holding a rose-bud in 
his hand. They were standing close together 
and a laughing banter was evidently going on 
69 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


between them, and Erasmus saw him lift his 
hand and place the rose-bud in the girl’s 
hair. 

A sickening of the heart came suddenly over 
him as he stood there in the rain, scarcely be- 
lieving what he had seen ; and hardly knowing 
what he did, he turned away and hurried blindly 
homeward. 

When he reached his room, he sat there, long 
and silently, staring at the wall, but seeing 
nothing consciously. It seemed so very long 
ago, miles and miles away, and ages since he 
had left the Whitestones house and walked so 
happily along. He felt in his pocket for the 
piece of paper he had carried with him so sa- 
credly, and took it out and unfolded it. It was 
wet through, and the ink had run with the wet 
and blurred the writing, but he spread it out 
upon his knee ; and another hour passed away 
while he sat without moving, seeing nothing but 
the figure of the girl as he had seen her twice 
that day. Now she was sitting by the bed and 
holding Hi’s little hand in hers, and he could 
hear her speaking to him in those low, sweet 
tones ; and the dark eyes would turn at last to 
where he stood by the window, and her face 
smiled pleasantly at seeing him again. Now she 
was standing in the light and laughing with a 
70 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


rose-bud in her hair, while he stood outside and 
far away from her. 

He got up and knelt down by the bed and 
buried his face on his arms. He tried to pray, 
but no words would come ; he could only moan 
and repeat over and over again, as if he must 
say the words aloud to the silent room, “ Oh, 
God, I love her — I love her !” 

He knew it now ; he knew what it all meant ; 
the touch of another’s hand upon her hair had 
shown him all, and the light of the windows 
streaming out upon the cold, wet pavement had 
been no clearer than the light which came in 
now upon his lonely life. How long he had re- 
mained there on his knees he did not know. 
When he got up at length, he shivered with the 
cold ; his wet clothes were still on him, but he 
had not thought of them, and had not cared. 

But Mrs. Brown heard no uneasy footsteps 
walking overhead to-night, and only the police- 
man, as he went his rounds, wondered at the 
light from the window which was burning far 
into the morning. 


VII 

There was a stranger in the pulpit of St. 
Margaret’s the next Sunday morning. Dr. 
Wyton, the busy, kindly rector of the wealthy 

7 » 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


church of St. Andrew, had answered a brief 
note of request from Erasmus by a hasty visit to 
his room : a nervous, active little man, of about 
fifty years of age, a sort of ecclesiastical engine at 
high pressure and as young in heart as he had 
been twenty-five years ago, “ his eye not dimmed 
nor his natural force abated.” 

“ Why, my good fellow, what does all this 
mean ? You’re not going to be sick, are you ? 
Of course I’ll take your service for you ; I can 
get some one to fill my place, and I’ll be glad to 
help you.” (He had a way of opening his mouth 
around an emphatic word as if it was a big word 
and he wanted to get it all out at once, and it 
always seemed a very much larger word from 
his way of saying it.) 

‘‘ Why don’t you let us see more of you ? 
Can’t I do something for you now ?” 

Erasmus was in bed, and put out his hand to 
meet that of his visitor. “ Nothing, thank you. 
I didn’t want to trouble you about the service 
to-morrow, but I have taken cold and feel so 

weak ” a fit of coughing interrupted him, a 

deep cough that made his chest feel sore and 
ragged as if something had been torn inside. 

“ Trouble ? My dear fellow, you musn’t speak 
of it. You’ve had a doctor? What! no doc- 
tor ? Then I’ll send you one. No,” — as Eras- 
72 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


mus attempted to speak, — **no, I won’t have 
any nonsense ; I’ll send him up at once. And 
I’ll attend to Sunday for you ; make your mind 
easy and get well, that is all that you have to 
do.” He bustled out again, and the very chairs 
and tables seemed to have taken on a sprightly, 
business air, as if the energy and vitality of the 
warm-hearted visitor had entered into them : 
and so it happened that the people of St. Mar- 
garet’s had a strange minister on Sunday. 

There was general surprise among the con- 
gregation, — and Bill Whitestone, who had come 
in at the last moment before the service began 
and had taken a seat by the door, was the most 
surprised of any. This is what comes of goin’ 
to church,” he said, reproachfully, as he saw 
that Erasmus was not to be there. “ Here I’ve 
been a-promisin’ Hi that I’d come just for once 
and havin’ took a likin’ to the minister, and this 
is all I get for it. Blamed if I ever come again ; 
it’s disgustin’ !” 

But he felt differently as the service went on 
in the earnest tones of Dr. Wyton’s voice, and 
as memories of his mother in the old meeting- 
house at home came back to him. He thought 
that after all there might be something better in 
this than in loitering about the house on Sunday 
mornings, or in loitering about the mill-yard 
73 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


with a crowd of men as careless as himself and 
talking politics or strikes. He almost made up 
his mind to try it again some time ; and when 
the service was over he joined a group which 
was waiting outside to hear news of their min- 
ister. Presently Michael, the sexton, came down 
the aisle, marking time with his wooden leg 
upon the floor and keeping it outside the strip 
of matting, as if he liked to hear the sound or 
wanted to be sure that his companion was along 
with him ; and the group at the door gathered 
around him. What’s the word, Michael ?” 

Rector’s sick. That there,” and he jerked 
out his wooden stump in the direction of the 
vestry-room, “ is Dr. Wyton, come to take his 
place, and takes it well we say : we’ve heard a 
deal of preachin’ in our time, and he preaches 
like a man what knows his business.” 

“ He don’t know no more about his business 
than the other one ; and I don’t want to hear no 
word again’ him,” growled a voice that sounded 
as if it came from Bill Whitestone. 

Michael faced the new-comer with mingled 
astonishment and disgust. “ Who’s a- say in’ 
anything again’ him, and wot d’you mean by 
such unnatural langwidge in a church as has 
been reglarly consercrated ?” 

“ I ain’t in no church,” retorted the new con- 
74 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


vert, crunching his heel on the cinder walk to 
make sure of his actual position. “ I ain’t in no 
church, and I don’t interfere with no man’s re- 
ligion, but if any man here says a word again’ 
Giglamps I’ll bust his head.” 

Even the wooden leg seemed to partake of 
the angry amazement which this irreverent out- 
burst spread over the honest face of the sexton ; 
and it is to be feared that his religious character, 
as defender of the faith, would have suffered seri- 
ous injury had not Dr. Wyton opportunely 
appeared at this moment. Bill put his hands in 
his pockets and walked away ; but feeling that 
he had taken quite a decided step and com- 
mitted himself irrevocably to the cause of re- 
ligion. “ Spoke right out in meetin’,” he said 
to Hi in the presence of Jane and the juniors; 

went clean over the line and offered to smash 
any fellow who had a word to say again’ it !” 
And from that day he counted himself as be- 
longing to St. Margaret’s. 

In more than one home that Sunday the talk 
turned sorrowfully to the absent minister. 
They had often joked about him among them- 
selves, and had given him the name which Bill 
Whitestone seemed to accept as his recognized 
cognomen; they had shaken their heads over 
what they called his popish ways” in church, 
75 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


and some had even thought of making some 
sort of a public protest against them ; but now, 
in the day of his trouble, they thought only of 
the lonely, patient figure who had gone in and 
out among them, and who had never spoken 
a harsh word, but had been always kind and 
faithful. 

It is a pity that it comes so late, that it comes 
so often too late to be of any comfort or service 
to him that needs it. 

Day after day passed by, but there was no 
change for the better in the room on Penn 
Street. The doctor came every day, but gave 
no sign of progress. “ No constitution, ma’am,” 
he said to Mrs. Brown, at the hall-door, as he 
pulled on his gloves ; no lungs worth mention- 
ing, system all run down.” And Mrs. Brown 
had answered, It’s only his religion that has 
kept him up so long. I always said he was a 
killing of himself for them saints of his, and no 
thanks to them either.” 

His brother clergy were there often to see 
him, and inquiries from the South Side parish 
were left every day at the door. 

But Hi was most welcome of all. The boy 
had recovered rapidly, and the first day on 
which he could be out he was over to the sick 
man’s room. Every day afterwards found him 
76 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


regularly at the door, and the minister would 
look for his coming, and listen for his steps on 
the stair, as Hi himself had watched for the 
coming of a woman’s face and the rustle of a 
woman’s dress on a certain afternoon not long 
ago, and Erasmus remembered it. He listened 
to the boy’s prattle of things and doings in the 
world outside, — but it was all a “ world outside” 
to him now. He knew that he was growing 
weaker ; that the light was burning lower every 
day ; and he was thankful that it was so, and he 
knew in his heart that he was glad to go. “ It 
never could be,” he said quietly to himself, 
*‘even if I lived, it could never be, — it would 
always be a weariness and a pain.” 

He was thinking this over and over, lying 
very quiet with his eyes closed, when Hi spoke 
to him again. “ Do you remember that day on 
the bridge, sir ?” 

Yes, Hi,” he smiled, faintly ; he had always 
liked to hear the bright, eager voice of the 
young boy. 

** I remember it. My ! I couldn’t ever forget 
that, you know ; I was so all out and lost-like. 
An’ Bill, he laughed at you ; but he don’t laugh 
any more ; he says you’re the right kind after all, 
an’ he’s goin’ to stand by you. I tell you, ’tain’t 
every one that Bill would say that for.” 

77 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


“Yes, Hi.” He had turned his head to see 
the boy’s face better. Hi was sitting on a chair, 
with his feet on the rung and his knees drawn up 
in front of him, and the rector’s old, rusty coat 
hanging on the back of it, as it had been thrown 
there the night he had come home in the rain. 

“ I didn’t know then that I was goin’ to 
know you an’ be one of your boys in the choir ; 
but we never do seem to know how things are 
goin’ to turn out, and what’ll happen just from 
meeting people, do we ?” 

The rector did not answer. His eyes were 
fixed upon the face of the boy, who rattled in- 
nocently on, — 

“ But it all comes out right at last, somehow ; 
an’ then we see it’s all for the best, an’ that, 
mebbe, it was meant to be just that way. That’s 
what Jane says when things go wrong ; an’ Bill 
he says that Jane has most always got the 
rights of it. ‘ All for the best ;’ yes, all for the 
best.” 

It was getting late, for Hi had always made 
his visits after working-hours. 

“ You must go now, my boy, my dear boy.” 
And Hi came near and took the thin hand held 
out to him. “ You can come again to-morrow.” 
He held the boy’s hand in his as if he did not 
want to let it go. “You have been a great 
78 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


comfort to me, and you will not forget me, I 
know. And you will grow up, Hi, and be the 
rector of St. Margaret’s some day, and you will 
do better work for those poor souls than I 
could ever do. But I’ve tried, I did try, to help 
them.” 

The little chorister bent over and kissed him, 
and went softly away. 

And the light outside grew fainter until the 
windows were a dim blur, and the noises on the 
street grew less and less until they died away. 
Mrs. Brown stole gently in, shading a lighted 
candle with her hand, and, seeing him sleeping 
quietly, went away, with hopes of a change for 
the better by morning, and planning some new 
surprise in the way of cookery to tempt him to 
increase his strength. 

It grew darker and quieter, until the various 
objects in the room had lost all outlines and 
faded into one unbroken shadow, and a little 
mouse nibbling at stray crumbs upon the floor 
would stop, frightened at its own work, which 
seemed a loud noise in the stillness. 

And the light outside came back with the 
morning, making the windows blurred patches 
of white again, and deepening till it showed the 
two plain chairs with the clothes hanging limp 
over the backs of them, and the table, and the 
79 


THE REVEREND ERASMUS 


three pictures on the wall, till it crossed the 
room and fell upon the bed, and showed the 
still figure lying there so quietly. 

But the light inside had ceased to shine, and 
the face was very white and calm and gentle in 
its stillness ; the hands were folded one upon 
the other, and the heart, which had only known 
kindness and gentleness and charity for all 
would never be weary or pained again. 

The Reverend Erasmus was dead ! 


8o 


Simon Smith 


H OW the wind did howl ! It swept down 
through the gulch at the head of Clear 
Creek Canon, and shook the little rectory as if 
some gigantic beast were shaking it in his jaws, 
and drove the rain against the windows like 
handfuls of sand dashed against the panes. A 
regular March storm in the Colorado mountains. 

It was Saturday night, and the rector was 
sitting in his study, writing notes for the sermon 
he was to preach next day. He was not making 
much headway. He had been too busy all week 
to give much mind to it, and he had only come 
back an hour ago from a miner’s cabin on the 
Divide, where old Trevarthen’s little grand- 
daughter was dying of mountain fever. He 
couldn’t get the child out of his mind. He 
thought of his own little daughter, lying asleep 
in the next room, and his heart went out in pity 
to the stricken home from which the only little 
child was going away. 

He had written his text, — Greater love hath 
no man than this, that a man lay down his life for 

6 8i 


SIMON SMITH 

his friend,” — and he had put down a few headings 
under it. But his mind wouldn’t work : he was 
back again in the miner’s home, with the storm 
beating against it, and the little life that was 
passing away so still and quiet among it all. 

The opening of the study-door startled him. 
And as he turned his head he thought, ^‘An- 
other summons to go out : my sermon is done 
for.” 

A man about forty years of age was standing 
in the open door. His red hair and rough red 
beard were dripping wet, his coarse gray woollen 
shirt and corduroy breeches stuck into his heavy 
boots were soaked through, and water ran in a 
little stream from the slouch hat which he held 
awkwardly in his hand. “ Beggin’ yer pardon, 
sir, but no one could hear me knockin’, for the 
storm.” 

What is the matter ? Anybody sick ?” 
People said that the Rev. Mr. Gordon had a 
quick, straight way of going at things. 

“ Nobody that I know of,” was the answer, 
given hesitatingly ; “ I come about myself, 
thinkin’ ye might help me — some way.” 

Help you ?” 

** Leastways, thinkin’ as how ye might tell a 
pardner what to do.” 

The rector laid down the pen which he had 
82 


SmON SMITH 

been holding. ‘^Sit down, — never mind being 
wet, it won’t hurt anything, — and tell me who 
you are and what you mean.” 

Thank ye, but I’d as lief stand. Ye don’t 
know me ; I’m a stranger in these parts. My 
name is — is Simon.” He glanced furtively 
about the room. ''Yes, that’s it, Simon, — 
Simon Smith. An’ I’ve tramped in, cl’ar from 
Arizony, an’ I’m dead broke, an’ got no place 
to sleep, an’ ’ain’t had nothin’ to eat since yester- 
day.” 

Mr. Gordon glanced at him sharply. " How 
did you happen to come to me ?” 

" Well, pardner, to strike a straight trail, I 
follered ye. I was cornin’ over the Divide, an’ 
there was a light in a cabin up there, an’ I went 
to the winder an’ peeked in, an’ saw ye prayin’. 
I knew ye was a minister, an’ I follered ye home ; 
an’ I walked up an’ down a bit, tryin’ to get 
heart up; an’ then I come in.” He shivered, as 
if with cold, and smiled faintly. " I reckon the 
wet has soaked inter me.” 

Gordon got up. " Come into the kitchen, 
and I’ll get you something to eat. My wife 
has gone to bed, but I can find you some- 
thing.” 

He put the remains of a turkey and half a 
loaf of bread upon the table, and stood near, 
83 


SIMON SMITH 


watching the man, who ate ravenously of what 
was set before him. The carcase of the turkey 
had become bare bone and the legs were 
stripped even to the sinews, and nothing but 
the end crust was left of the bread, when the 
man stopped and wiped his mouth with the 
back of his hand. “ It’s the first square meal 
I’ve had for a week. I’m obleeged to ye, 
pardner.” 

“ That’s all right. Now, where are you going 
to sleep ?” 

Simon Smith pushed back his chair and took 
up his soaked hat. '' I’ll find a shed some- 
where. I’m used to it ; an’ I feel good now.” 

Gordon’s forehead puckered a moment, and 
then cleared. “ I’ll put you in the attic ; there’s 
a cot there. Come with me ; and go easy, so as 
not to wake my little girl.” 

He showed the man to the room under the 
roof, put the lamp on the floor, and went out. 
In a few minutes he returned with some things 
on his arm : “ Here’s a dry undershirt and a 
night-shirt for you, and a towel to rub yourself 
down with. If you hear any queer noise over- 
head, don’t mind it: the roof runs back into 
the hill, and the goats get on it sometimes. 
Good-night.” 

Simon did not make any reply. He opened 
84 


SIMON SMITH 


his mouth once or twice as if to speak, but 
Gordon had gone before the attempt mate- 
terialized. 

The sermon seemed to have got into the 
same voiceless condition. The rector took up 
his pen again, but the train of thought had been 
broken a second time, and he could not find 
the way to join it. The hour was close to mid- 
night. At last he gave it up, went to a drawer, 
and drew out a bundle of sermons preached sev- 
eral years before. He selected one that, as he 
said to himself, would ‘^have to do.” And 
then he went to bed. 

There’s a man asleep in the attic,” he an- 
nounced to his wife as breakfast was over. “He 
came in late last night and had no place to sleep, 
and I couldn’t send him out into the storm. You 
are surprised ?” 

“ I’ve been married to you seven years,” his 
wife calmly replied, “ and I’m not surprised at 
anything. I suppose the man has scarlet fever, 
or something equally contagious ?” 

“ No,” said Gordon, laughingly ; “ he hadn’t 
anything but the wettest shirt and trousers I 
ever saw. There’s an old suit of mine in the 
closet, and I wish you’d give them to him, and 
put his in the kitchen to dry. He’ll come down 
85 


SIMON SMITH 


when he has had his sleep out ; and I must be 
off now.” He kissed his wife, — it was a way of 
his never to leave the house without it, — and 
went up to the church, where he had a Bible- 
class at an early hour. 

When the regular morning service was over 
he joined his wife at the church-door, and she 
had further news of their guest. 

“ I gave him your old suit, as you told me 
to do. He is a rough-looking specimen, and he 
has an astonishing appetite. He wanted a pair 
of scissors and a razor, and I gave him them, 
too.” 

You don’t mean that he finished his break- 
fast by swallowing cutlery ?” 

Not while I was present. I don’t know 
what he wanted them for; but I knew what 
you’d do if you were there ; so I handed over 
my scissors and your razor.” 

“ My razor ! Well, yes : I’d do anything in 
reason, I suppose; but I draw the line at a 
man’s pet razor.” 

The explanation of the double request was 
before him as he entered the study. Simon 
Smith was sitting there, and six-year old Doro- 
thy was on his knee and apparently giving him 
the history of a doll which he was holding. 
At least it should have been Simon ; but the 
86 


SIMON SMITH 


red beard and whiskers and moustache were 
gone, and the bushy red hair had only the 
roughly-cut and close-cropped spikes of itself 
left upon his head. The change in his appear- 
ance, aided by the change of clothes, was so 
great that Gordon under any other circum- 
stances would not have known him as the same 
man. He stared at him in surprise. 

** What have you been doing to yourself?” 

Simon put the child down, and passed his 
hand over his head. “ I’ve been reddin’ up a 
bit. When I got these clothes o’ yourn on, 
for which I’m obleeged to ye, the lookin’-glass 
made my head look like a miner’s dump : they 
didnT match worth a cent ; an’ I cleared it off 
some.” 

I should say you had : it looks as if it had 
been cleared off with a saw.” He took the 
big easy-chair at the other side of the fire and 
looked across at him. I didn’t care to ask 
you any questions last night. Are you looking 
for work ? Will you work here in the mines ?” 

‘Tm lookin’ for work, sure enough; but — 
but I don’t think I’m jest fit for it yet. I’m 
naterally strong, but I’ve been jest skinnin’ 
along for a while back, an’ I’m rattled a bit. 
If ye could give me somethin’ to do, yerself, till 
I ?” 


87 


SIMON SMITH 

Gordon was looking at him steadily, without 
reply. 

** I see ye 'ain’t got no girl in the kitchen ; an’ 
I could make myself handy about a house.” 
There was a wistfulness in his eyes that re- 
minded Gordon of the dumb entreaty of a dog 
he used to have. I’d do anythin' I could ; an’ 
I’d thank ye kindly for it.” 

Gordon pondered. You never did anything 
about a church ?” 

Well, no ; I ’ain’t been much in a religious 
way, — not since I came into the mining coun- 
try.” He leaned forward with his hands upon 
his knees. But if ye’d tell me the sort o’ 
religion ye’d want. I’d try to make a fist at it.” 

The rector smiled. “ I don’t mean in that 
way. But there are all sorts of jobs to do about 
a church, — light fires, keep it clean, go on 
errands, look after things generally. We have 
no regular sexton ; and if you think ” 

“ I’ll do it for ye,” interrupted Simon, eagerly ; 
“ I’ll keep it all straight, an’ help round the 
house all I kin. Jest give me the kitchen to eat 
in, an’ the attic to sleep in, an’ I’ll do square by 
ye. Will ye do it ?” 

‘‘Yes, I’ll do it. You had better keep the 
clothes you have on : you will look more like 
a sexton. We’ll see how it works.” 

88 


SIMON SMITH 


It seemed to work well. In that gold-mining 
region, where new people came and went, and 
new “finds” and excitements were things of 
every day, and new faces as plenty as old ones, 
nobody asked or cared where the new sexton 
had come from. He did his work quietly and 
thoroughly, and was as good as his word in 
being handy about the house. Little Dorothy 
took a special liking to him, and he never tired 
of playing with her and inventing things for her 
amusement. “ Mr. Gordon sets a heap by her,” 
he said, in reply to a laughing remonstrance of 
Gordon’s wife. He shets me up when I go 
for to tell him that I’m not forgettin’ the night 
o’ the storm, but he can’t hinder me lovin’ his 
child.” 

It was Gordon’s way to let such incidents as 
that of the storm pass from his mind. He lived 
a busy life, and was too much occupied with the 
present to keep a mental diary of things which, 
after all, he counted as too slight and simple to 
be worth thinking of. “ It was a very little 
thing to do,” he had said, rather shortly, on the 
occasion which Simon had referred to as shettin’ 
him up. “ You’d have done the same for me; 
anybody would. It’s what we’re put into this 
world for.” And it practically passed into 
forgetfulness. 


89 


SIMON SMITH 


But within one month after that March night 
it came sharply back to him. He was standing 
in the post-office, waiting for the box-window to 
be opened for the delivery of the mail which the 
stage had just brought in. A crowd of men 
was in the room, and chance sentences of what 
seemed to be a common subject of talk came to 
his ear. I’ll bet five to one they’ll catch him 
“ Clear case of murder “ Safe through the 
mountain passes by this time “ Shot down on 
his claim.” 

He asked a man near him what it meant. 
The man pointed to a printed notice which had 
been freshly put upon the wall close by. Gor- 
don turned and read it. 

$500 REWARD! 

The above Reward will be paid for information lead- 
ing to the arrest of “ Missouri Pete,” charged with the 
murder of James Thorpe, of California Gulch, on the 
1 6th of March. He is about 5 ft. 10 inches in height, 
with red hair and red beard, and at the time of the 
murder wore a gray woollen shirt and corduroy 
trousers, etc., etc. 

He read it over twice, as if he could not quite 
get the meaning of it into his mind ; and as he 
read it the second time, he was conscious of see- 
ing, like a vision in the brain, a man holding his 
little Dorothy on his knee. 

90 


SIMON SMITH 


A voice at his side broke in on him. ‘‘I 
knowed him. I was down in South Park an’ 
worked in the Gulch a spell. He was a simple- 
minded chap, and didn’t seem to have no harm 
in him ; but you can’t tell what a man ’ll do 
when his blood’s up. Thorpe an’ him had some 
fuss about a claim.” 

He turned to the speaker. “What will be 
done if they arrest him ?” 

“ Hang him, sure : there’s been a lot of trouble 
down there, and the Vigilantes have sworn to 
string up the next man they catch at it. I 
wouldn’t give a nickel for his chance if they get 
their hands on him.” 

Gordon did not wait for the mail to be dis- 
tributed. He pushed his way through the 
crowd, and went slowly down the road to his 
home. 

He found Simon in the kitchen, paring pota- 
toes for dinner. Saying briefly that he wanted 
to speak with him, he led the way into the 
study. 

“ Sit down.” Gordon’s voice was grave and 
troubled, and each sentence was marked by a 
pause. “You came here one night a month 
ago. I want you to tell me the truth. Is your 
real name ‘ Simon’ ?” 

The eyes of the man sitting opposite reflected 
91 


SIMON SMITH 

the troubled look which met his. No, it ain’t. 
I lied to ye.” 

“You said that you had tramped in from 
Arizona ?” 

“ I hadn’t. I come from Californy Gulch ; an’ 
I lied to ye again.” 

“ Is it all a lie ?” 

The man called Simon twisted his hands ner- 
vously together. “ I — I was meanin’ to tell ye. 
I tried to tell ye that first night, but — my tongue 
stuck. I was feared ye’d turn me out; an’ I 
was that cold an’ miserable ” 

“ Tell me all about it now.” 

“Ye’ve got a doubt o’ me somehow, but 
I’ll tell ye; I’ll tell ye God’s truth about the 
whole thing.” He got up and leaned with 
one hand on the back of his chair. “ I come 
out here from Missouri, with a party what 
took claims in Californy Gulch. They was a 
rough crowd, an’ a rougher lot come in after 
some of us struck pay. My claim didn’t pan 
hardly to keep me goin’ an’ a man named 
Thorpe was next to me, an’ got over on my 
line. He was a fightin’ man, an’ ready with his 
gun; but I didn’t want no trouble, an’ there 
had been more’n one man killed in jest such a 
fuss.” 

“ You didn’t quarrel with him, then ?” Gor- 
92 


SIMON SMITH 


don was gazing keenly at him, but the eyes of 
the miner looked steadily into his. 

*‘Yes, I did. I didn’t want no fuss, but I 
wasn’t goin’ to be robbed for nothin’. We had 
had some hot words about it down in camp, an’ 
there was a crowd lookin’ on ; but it didn’t go 
no furder that evenin’.” He tightened his grip 
on the chair. “ It didn’t go no furder that even- 
in’. But when I come out to my claim in the 
mornin’, Thorpe was lyin’ dead on my side o’ 
the line. He’d been shot down, an’ there wasn’t 
no one to say who’d done it. 

“ I knowed how it ’d be. They didn’t have 
no law to speak of down there, an’ they’d made 
up the Vigilantes to keep things straight. An’ 
— an’ I run for it. 

“ I’m tellin’ ye God’s truth. I ain’t no fightin’ 
man, an’ I didn’t have no gun. 

I steered north, an’ I don’t know rightly how 
I lived, till that night I come over the Divide 
an’ peeked in at the winder. I didn’t mind 
the storm, but I was starvin’ an’ feelin’ like a 
hunted dog, — an’ I follered ye home.” 

“ It sounds like a straight story ; and you’ll 
have need of it. There’s a reward offered for 
you, with a full description of you as you were 
the night you came here.” 

Missouri Pete’s face had a whiteness in it : 

93 


SIMON SMITH 

‘*ril be took. They’ll hang me for what I 
never did !” 

“ Not unless I speak. No one here has seen 
you as you were that night, and no one would 
think of you so long as you are living in my 
house and working for me at the church. But 
that isn’t the question. 

“ I am in sore doubt what to do. I have only 
your word for what you tell me. If I give you 
up, you would be taken to Fairplay — that’s the 
county seat of the section you came from — and 
be tried by law; and the law would deter- 
mine ” 

I’d never live to get there. They’d do the 
law theirselves : he was lyin’ there dead on my 
claim, an’ we’ quarrelled, an’ I’ve nothin’ to show 
I didn’t do it.” 

Ah ; and you made it seem blacker by run- 
ning away. That will look very ugly.” 

Pete drew his hand across his dry lips and 

stared helplessly at Gordon. I never seen 

I’m a lost man !” 

Gordon rose and walked up and down the 
room. This man’s life was in his hands ; but 
who was he, Gordon, to decide so awful a ques- 
tion ? Suppose that, after all, he had really fired 
the shot: then Justice demanded that he be 
given up for punishment, and a minister of God 
94 


SIMON SMITH 


must be the last man to stand in the way. But 
if he were innocent, and sent to his death by a 
fatal chain of circumstance, and the blackest 
link in it forged by the man’s own unthinking 
hand ! Then, of all men, a minister of God is 
bound to stop that deed. And if that minister, 
instead of stopping it, should tie the noose with 
his own hand ? 

Gordon still paced the room. But then, there 
were the court and the law and the jury: by 
what right was he, an individual, to take their 
functions into his single hands ? Let the law 
decide and take the responsibility. But in this 
particular case, what chance would the man 
have ? In face of the apparent facts, and with 
similar crimes of such frequent occurrence, what 
jury would believe his story? And — he had 
forgotten that until now — the man had not only 
run away, but he had disguised himself! 

Had this Missouri Pete told the truth ? He 
had lied at his first coming ; but that was natural. 
Had he told a true story now ? Gordon believed 
that he had ; and, besides, he had told all before 
he knew that a reward had been offered for him. 
Then there was the man’s own self, as he had 
shown it every day since he had stood there, 
wet and shivering, in that room. Was it likely 

that that man ? The debate was coming to 

95 


SIMON SMITH 


an end in Gordon’s mind : his steps were slower : 
the frowning lines between his eyes were disap- 
pearing. 

Unconsciously, his training as a minister had 
made it easy for him to assume a responsibility 
which other men might have shrunk from. He 
had been so long used to. deciding questions of 
conscience that it was natural to him to be judg- 
ing now the case of the man before him ; and he 
had been so accustomed to interpret from the 
pulpit the Higher Law as the final appeal in 
every relation of human life that that Higher 
Court had become to him the one Voice whose 
word was absolute. It was not merely his belief, 
it was the consciousness in which he thought 
and lived. 

Gordon had stopped walking, and the lines 
between his eyes had now entirely disappeared. 
The case was decided. 

“ Simon, — you will have to be Simon now, you 
know, — I’ve thought the whole thing out, and it’s 
best to leave things as they are. You can go 
back to your potatoes. The court is adjourned.” 

The man had remained standing, following 
with his eyes that steady pacing to and fro, 
and knowing that his fate was in the balance. 
Even now the full meaning of Gordon’s words 
had not reached him. 


96 


SIMON SMITH 


Ye mean that Ye’re not goin’ to give 

me up, then ?” 

“ I say that I believe your story, and that so 
far as I’m concerned it’s all settled and done 
with. You had better stay here till all danger 
has passed ; and the safest thing is to go about 
your work as usual.” 

Simon’s face flushed as red as it had been pale 
before. “ I’m — I’m not good at sayin’ what I 
mean, but ye’ve been my friend an’ a true pard- 

ner, an’ if ever I get the chance !” There 

was a trembling in his voice and a moisture in 
his eyes. 

That’s all right,” said Gordon, with the 
characteristic phrase and manner which to Simon 
had the effect of “ shettin’ him up and he took 
up his hat and went back to the post-office. 

Three months had come and gone. There 
had been no more rain in the mountains, and 
the gulch at the foot of the hill on which the 
little rectory was built was dry and dusty. 
Clouds of white dust rose from the wheels of the 
wagons carrying ore along the roads to the 
stamp-mills, and dark, white-edged thunder- 
clouds were often above the tops of the hills ; 
but there had been no rain. 

It was a July afternoon, and Gordon had 
97 


7 


SIMON SMITH 


turned at the door to say a last word to his wife. 

I’m going up on the Divide. Old Trevarthen 
is failing, and I want to see how he is getting 
on.” As he went up the road, he heard a little 
voice calling him, and saw his little daughter 
Dorothy running after. He stopped to tell her 
to go back to the house, and then went on his 
way. 

The road led up the mountain, following the 
gulch which lay, deep and narrow, between it 
and the mountain on the opposite side. He was 

walking on, lost in thought, when What 

was that ? 

A confused, tumbling sound above him, deep- 
ening into a rushing roar like the mad down- 
pour of a mass of broken waters ! 

He knew what it meant : there had been a 
cloud-burst at the head of the gulch, and the 
flood was coming downward. He hurried up 
the side of the mountain to be out of harm’s 
way, and from the vantage-point he had gained 
looked down to see the rush of the water. On 
it came, like a river dashed down a steep incline, 
and carrying rocks and broken timbers in a 
hurling confusion upon its flood. He thought 
at first only of the awful force and wonder of 
the scene : then he thought of the town below 
him, and of how the rush of the water would 
98 


SIMON SMITH 


come without warning upon the lower roads and 
the teams which might be passing there. 

It was all in sight through the clear air, and, 
almost before his thought was formed, he could 
see men running, and drivers whipping their 
mules, and — too late for some of them — wagons 
and mules overturned and swept down. 

The sudden flood was spent and gone just 
below him, and he hurried down the mountain 
and back by the road he had come. 

It was all over. Men were all about, — laugh- 
ing, swearing, explaining, — and it was some time 
before he could get a clear answer to his ques- 
tion. Yes, some of the mules were drowned 
and a few wagons wrecked, but nothing else ; 
no lives lost, anyway. This was contradicted 
by another : folks had been drowned, — a child, 
for certain, — down the gulch somewhere. 

He hurried on, past the rectory on the hill, 
where he noticed that the front door was wide 
open, and so on to where he saw a crowd of men 
and women gathered together. They opened 
to let him through, and his face blanched at 
what he saw before him. 

His wife was sitting on the ground, and little 
Dorothy was lying across her knees, apparently 
lifeless. 

’ “ She’s all right, Mr. Gordon,” said a kindly- 
99 


SIMON SMITH 


voiced woman. She’s come to, an’ only needs 
a little nursin’ now. More praise to the man 
that saved her.” 

He turned quickly. Who saved her ? Which 
of you men am I to thank for her life ?” 

“ None of us here,” was the reply of one of 
them. Come over this way, an’ I’ll show you 
the man.” 

There was some broken lumber on the ground, 
where it had been thrown and left by the water. 
A man was lying at full length upon it, with his 
face to the sky. But the eyes were closed, and 
the stillness of death was upon the form lying 
there so quietly. 

I was up there, near your house,” said the 
one who had spoken before ; ‘‘ an’ just as I seen 
the cloud-burst cornin’, this man here came 
rushin’ down : ^ The child,’ he says, — ‘ Gordon’s 
child !’ an’ he tore past me, right into the track 
of the boomin’ water.” 

Gordon was looking down at the dead face, 
and made no answer. 

I don’t rightly know what happened next. 
They tell me that when they found them the 
child was lyin’ on some brush, an’ the drownded 
man was still holdin’ on to her.” 

The rector sat in his study that night, to pre- 

IQO 


SIMON SMITH 


pare a sermon for the next Sunday, and turned 
over the loose papers that his careless habits 
allowed to accumulate on his desk. Among 
them was the half-written sheet of notes which 
his mind had refused to work on some months 
before. 

He picked it up and glanced at it. The text 
was there in full : “ Greater love hath no man 
than this, that a man lay down his life for his 
friend.” 

He gazed at it awhile in silence, and then 
dipped his pen in ink. He had no trouble in 
writing the sermon now. 


lOI 


KU 


I. The Waif. 



‘HE Mississippi River was rising fast. The 


A spring flood had begun two days before, 
and the water was rising at the rate of six inches 
an hour. It was already almost at the level of 
the banks, and the road through the cut to the 
steam-boat landing was a muddy lake which 
opened through the banks, and which was 
creeping nearer every moment to the feet of a 
man who was standing there looking out upon 
the river. 

Behind him, climbing slowly up the road 
which ascended from the river towards the 
bluffs, was a large wagon with an immense 
hooped canvas covering, a “prairie schooner,” 
drawn lumberingly, with creaking wheels, by a 
team of four stout oxen, and followed by three 
men on foot, while a fourth man walked by the 
team, and shouted and urged them on with fre- 
quent blows of a long “ blacksnake” whip, 
which he flourished and cracked over them. 

Before him was the swollen and muddy river. 


102 


KIT 


with sudden swirls and eddies nearer shore, and 
its mid-stream marked by logs and boards and 
floating fragments of all sorts borne swiftly gulf- 
ward; and far down stream was the black 
smoke of the steam-boat which had landed the 
wagon yonder and this man a little while be- 
fore. 

He was a tall, lean, wiry-looking man, about 
forty years old. A kindly face, with blue eyes 
and a sandy, close-cropped beard, looked out 
from under a broad-brimmed slouch hat ; a rough 
hunting-jacket was too short to conceal a leather 
case at the hip from which the butt end of a 
revolver protruded, and the corduroy breeches 
were stuck into the heavy-soled boots which 
completed his costume. 

“ It’s mebbe my last look at a white man’s 
country, an’ it’s good-by to you, old Mississip’. 
An’ you don’t keer a continental; you just go 
boomin’ along, an’ it’s all one to you whether 
I’m standin’ here or goin’ down drowned like 
one o’ your logs out yonder. I’ve fished on 
you an’ skifled on you, an’ mighty poor luck 
you ever brought me ; if you’d been half decent 
I wouldn’t be startin’ for the gold diggin’s now, 
an’ leavin’ the old folks to scratch gravel for a 
livin’ till I come back with my pockets full o’ 
shiners to make ’em happy.” 

103 


KIT 


He was speaking his thoughts out aloud, after 
a fashion of his, and he looked back over his 
shoulder at the wagon, now half-way up the 
hill, and then out once more at the river. 

“ Good-by to you, then ; an’ if I ever ” 

He had been looking down stream, and as he 
turned to go his eyes were arrested by a singular 
piece of wreckage which had just turned the 
bend above. It was coming head on, and 
seemed to be a sunken passenger steam-boat ; 
for the pilot-house and upper deck were above 
water, and though both smoke-stacks were gone, 
and the forward state-rooms sunk to the line of 
the hurricane-deck, the after state-rooms were 
still clear and apparently lifted out of danger. 

As it turned the sharp bend the force of the 
current carried it over towards the bank, and 
there the eddies and cross-currents caught it and 
swung it round, and showed that it was only the 
upper works of a steam-boat, cut off as clean 
from the hull and all below as if a monster 
knife had passed from bow to stern. 

‘‘ A busted steam-boat, sure as my name is Jim 
Peters ! An’ the biggest bust I ever seen,” he 
added, as the forlorn-looking wreck was whirled 
around once more and came helplessly nearer. 
Then a great swirl of the shore current caught 
it, and the bow end ploughed into the muddy 
104 


KIT 


lake at the roadway and stuck fast, while the 
outside current swung the stern against the 
bank, and made a dam against which the water 
rose and gurgled and bubbled. 

“You’ve made the landin,’’ ejaculated Jim, 
“ but you’re a leetle behind time in doin’ it. 
Blest if you ain’t the cleanest an’ down-for- 
sakenest old bust I ever seen !’’ The forward 
cabins were now out of water, and he could see 
that the windows on one side had all been 
smashed in, and there was a great gash in the 
side, and the guards and wood-work had been 
splintered and shattered. He looked at it a 
moment as it lay there, and then he sat down, 
and pulled off his boots and woollen socks and 
rolled up his trousers above his knees. “ I’ll 
have a look at you, anyway, before I go.” 

He waded out to the bow end and looked in at 
one of the cabin windows. It was an ordinary 
state-room, empty, but berths and everything in 
it dripping with water and covered with slimy 
mud. He waded along to the opening which 
had been broken in the side, and went through 
it, and found himself in the main saloon. The 
deck which formed the floor was solid as ever, 
but the chairs and sofas and tables were upset 
and tumbled in every direction ; some pictures 
lay upon the floor with the glass broken, and 
105 


KIT 

the carpet was soaked and muddy and oozy at 
every step. 

He went towards the light, trying the doors 
of the state-rooms as he went, but finding them 
all empty, and the same muddy drip and little 
pools upon the floors. Then he stopped still, 
with his mouth open and his eyes wide-staring. 
The sofa under the stern windows was fastened 
to the wall, and two arm-chairs had fallen against 
it, with their arms interlocked and their legs up 
in the air, like two old gentlemen whose dinner 
had been too much for them. It was a ridicu- 
lous looking thing ; but it wasn’t that which had 
brought Jim to a sudden stand. A little boy 
was lying on the sofa, white and still. 

Dead !” said the man, and he drew a step 
nearer. “ Poor little chap ! Stone dead, an’ 
lyin’ here all alone in this busted old coffin ! 
What on earth’s to be done now ?” He stooped 
down and laid one big rough hand on the child’s 
hair and kissed him on the forehead. “ Poor 

little Why, great jiminy, this child ain’t 

dead ! Wake up, little one ! Hi-hallo ! We’ve 
got to the landin’ !” And he put his arms 
around the child and lifted him to a sitting post- 
ure, kneeling down in front of him, and holding 
him back against the sofa. 

The child opened his eyes. He was apparently 

io6 


KIT 


between two and three years old, stout and 
handsome, with dark, curly hair and dark-brown 
eyes ; a little blouse of black velvet fitted him 
neatly to the waist, and a skirt of Scotch plaid 
came to his knees, and his chubby legs were en- 
cased in stockings of the same pattern. 

“That’s it, young un’. Now how did you 
get here, an’ what does it all mean ?” 

The child stared at him, and the brown eyes 
filled with tears, and the lips began to quiver. 
“ Mamma ! Papa !” 

“I’m your mammy now, sonny. Where’s 
your pappy, an’ how long hev you been here ?” 

“ Baby ’ont d’ink ;’’ and the little fellow lifted 
up his voice and wailed. 

“ Right you are, an’ baby shall have a drink. 
Come along with me and he took the child in 
his arms and waded back to the spot where he 
had left his boots. There he sat him down on 
the grass, and going again to the river, filled his 
hat with water, and made it into a scoop from 
which the baby might drink. And drink he did, 
ravenously, choking and strangling as Jim in his 
eagerness tipped the hat too freely, but clutching 
at it when Jim drew it back, and sucking for the 
water when it didn’t come fast enough. 

At last he seemed satisfied and sat quiet, 
staring with round baby eyes at Jim ; and Jim 
107 


KIT 


pulled his wet hat down tight again on his head, 
and slowly scratched his chin, and stared back 
at him in turn. 

“ Blest if I know what to do with you ! I 
can’t leave you here, an’ it won’t never do to 
put you back on that sinkin’ old consarn all by 
yourself; you might get drownded, you know. 
An’ there ain’t no houses round here for miles 
an’ miles ; an’, of course, I can’t take you.” 

The baby laughed. “ Me *ont mo’ d’ink !” 

“ It ain’t so much of a joke as you seem to 
think, young un’. We ain’t got no call for 

babies this trip, an’ ” He looked up the road. 

The wagon was out of sight, and one of the men 
was standing at the turn of the bluff and waving 
to him to come on. 

The little fellow rose on his sturdy little legs, 
and toddled off up the road as fast as he could 
go. Jim looked after him and laughed again. 

I reckon you’ve got it right and you’re bound 
to go ’long ; there ain’t no other way, till I can 
drop you somewhere. So here goes !” He got 
up, and with another look at the wrecked upper 
deck and its cabins and the ruined desolation of 
it all, he went after the child, and taking him up 
in his strong arms, trudged on up the hill after 
his companions. 

They had gained a good mile on through his 
io8 


KIT 


stay at the river ; and the sun was setting, and 
the oxen had been unyoked and tethered out 
for the night, and the men were gathering sticks 
for a fire to cook their supper by, when the two 
strangely assorted companions appeared. 

“ Great snakes, Jim ! What have you got 
there?” 

“ It’s a baby, Dan,” he replied, as he gravely 
put the youngster on the ground ; “ a real live 
baby !” 

The other men came running up, and all 
stood in a circle round the boy. “ Where did 
you ever pick it up ?” 

“ Found it in the top half of a steam-boat that 
came cavortin’ round the bend an’ got stuck in 
the cut at the landin’. This young un’ was the 
only passenger aboard.” 

“ Honor bright, Jim ?” 

Honor bright; it’s just as I tell you. It 
was a reg’lar smash-up ; an’ this here little fel- 
low was lyin’ on a sofa, tired out an’ fast asleep, 
an’ so white an’ tuckered out that I thought he 
was dead. But he wasn’t ; an’ I took him ashore, 
and he wanted a drink ; an’ great jiminy ! you 
ought to hev seen him suck it in !” 

The men stared at the child who was sitting 
contentedly on the ground and sucking hard at 
his thumb, and then looked at each other and 
109 


KIT 


at Jim. ‘‘What are you goin’ to do with 
him ?” 

“ Blamed if I know. Put him in the wagon, 
I reckon, till I can drop him onto somebody ; it’s 
a reg’lar conniption fix to be in !” 

“ He’s no common young un’, from the cut 
of his clothes,” said Dan Brown, looking critic 
cally at him. “That’s a rich man’s child. 
What’s his pap’s name ?” 

“ What’s his great-grandmother’s name !” re- 
plied Jim. “How should I know? An’ the 
boy don’t know neither; don’t know nothin’ 
but ‘ pappy’ and ‘ mammy’ and ‘ d’ink ;’ he’s im- 
mense on the ‘ d’ink !’ ” 

“ He’ll be immense on the eat too,” said Jack 
Williams, “ if you’ll give him a chance. Look 
at him chew that thumb !” 

“ We’ll have the fire goin’ in a minute,” said 
Dan, “ an’ we can give him some hot coffee. 
Get him a piece o’ that pie we bought on the 
boat, till I can get the coffee ready,” and he 
hurried away. 

“ Hold on,” cried Jim, as another of the men 
started for the wagon ; “ I don’t b’lieve babies 
like him ever eats pie.” 

The man stopped and turned half round. 
“ What do they eat, then ?” 

Jim didn’t know; none of the men knew, 
no 


KIT 


They were all unmarried, and had never con- 
sidered such questions before. 

“ We might try some o’ that jerked beef,” said 
one, tentatively. “An’ there’s them crackers 
an’ that Bologna sausage we was keepin’ for a 
rainy day.” 

The unanimous vote was, fortunately, for the 
crackers. And they sat around on their heels 
with their hands on their knees, and laughed 
and worked their own jaws in pure sympathy at 
the way the hungry youngster devoured them, 
doubling his little fists around one and trying to 
cram them both into his mouth at once. 

“ My sakes !” said Jim, nudging his elbow 
into the man next him. “ Don’t the young un’ 
eat, though — eh ?” And he sat down to feed the 
crackers to his charge as they might be wanted, 
while the other men went to help with the supper. 

They were five honest, rough-mannered, and 
good-hearted men, part of the great army that 
in those days was streaming across prairies and 
plains for the newly-discovered gold-fields of 
Colorado. By dint of selling what little prop- 
erty they had, and by putting their savings to- 
gether, they had a fair equipment for their 
journey, — two pairs of stout oxen and a big 
wagon, with rifles and provisions and miner’s 
tools, — and a baby !” 


Ill 


KIT 


That unexpected infant had gone to sleep in 
Jim’s arms after his supper of crackers, and after 
putting him to bed on the bottom of the wagon, 
wrapped up in a light blanket and with a coat 
rolled up for a pillow, Jim had come back to 
where the others were lying on the ground, 
smoking their cob pipes and discussing the situ- 
ation. 

“ Guess his folks was all drowned,” Jack Wil- 
liams was saying. 

‘^Accordin’ to Jim’s account o’ that wreck 
there couldn’t have been none o’ them saved.” 

“They’d never have left that child there if 
they’d been alive,” said Dan. “ The little chap 
must have crawled onto that sofa after the rest 
was drowned.” 

“ ’Pears like a shame to drop him after he’s 
been fairly throwed into our hands like that,” 
said Reuben Miller, the youngest of the party. 
“ You’d better keep him, Jim, an’ take him along 
as part of your kit.” 

Jim puffed at his pipe thoughtfully. “ I don’t 
say but what I was thinkin’ that way myself 
when he was sleepin’ in my arms. It makes a 
fellow feel queer to hev a little trustin’ thing like 
that lyin’ there an’ dependin’ on you to take keer 
of him. An’ as to takin’ him as a part of my 
kit, he’d be the queerest kit that was ever took 

II2 


KIT 


to the gold diggin’s. An’ there !” he exclaimed, 
bringing one hand down on his knee, “ there is 
his name ! I’ll call him ^ Kit,’ an’ we’ll keep 
him, anyway, till we can drop him in some good 
home.” 

At sunrise next morning they were again upon 
the road. The ways of civilization were left 
behind them, and the unknown and almost track- 
less West stretched away before them. And the 
wheels of their prairie schooner” creaked and 
the oxen lumbered on, and the waif of the 
wreck sat inside on a bag of shelled corn and 
laughed and crowed, and fairly deserved the 
encomium which the delighted Jim passed to his 
companions. 

‘‘ He’s got more sense, has Kit, than any 
young un’ of his age I have ever seen.” 

Two days before, the following item had 
appeared in the telegraphic reports of the daily 
newspapers : 


“A BAD ACCIDENT. 

“Cairo, Illinois. 

The steamer * Morewood’ left the wharf for 
New Orleans last night at eight o’clock. There 
was a high stage of water and the current was 
very strong, and in attempting to pass under the 
bridge the pilot lost control of the boat. She 

8 113 


KIT 


was dashed against the pier, and with such vio- 
lence that the hull parted from the main-deck and 
immediately sunk, and the upper portion, con- 
taining the state-rooms, etc., was carried off down 
stream in a sinking condition. Several tugs went 
in pursuit of the floating wreck, and succeeded in 
taking off the passengers. It was at first supposed 
that every soul had been saved, but it is now 
known that one child, the son of Henry Sherlock, 
Esq., of New York, must have been drowned. 
Owing to the darkness and confusion, and the 
mixing up of passengers on the different tugs, 
it was thought that the child was among the 
rescued; but he has not been found, and has 
doubtless perished. He was an only child, and 
the parents are distracted with grief.” 

II. Kit’s Camp. 

At the head of Clear Creek Canon, a little 
above where the mining town of Central City 
now stands, there are two gulches, running into 
one deep gulch at the lower ends and enclosing 
a hill between them. To the traveller of 1892 
the gulches are dry with dust and gravel, and 
the hills all around are rocky and bare, without 
so much as a blade of grass or a tree ; and it is 
hard to believe that, not so many years ago, 
brawling mountain streams, filled with trout, 

II4 


KIT 


ran down those gulches, and that those hills 
and ravines were so thick with pine and fir and 
cedar that a man might lose his way in going 
only a mile from one mining camp to another. 

Yet so it was; and on that hill between the 
gulches, with only a falling log cabin to tell of 
it to-day, were the rude log homes of nearly 
ten thousand men. They had been built with 
some pretence of regular streets, and saloons 
and gambling-houses were thick in every block, 
and did a bad and thriving business day and 
night, for Missouri City” was the centre of the 
gold-mining region of Colorado. 

It was almost entirely “ surface” mining then 
(turning the water of the mountain streams aside 
into roughly-made sluices, and searching the 
natural beds of the torrents and the bottoms of 
the sluices for gold), and all day long the sound 
of axes was in the air, cutting the timber for the 
sluices and for fires, and for building cabins in 
which to live ; and far into the night, and often 
all night long, the saloons and gambling-houses 
were in full swing. 

Half a mile from the town, and on the side of 
the hill near the right-hand gulch, was a mining 
camp of a few log cabins. They were roughly 
built of unhewn logs, unplastered, with no other 
furniture than a dry-goods box for a table and 
IIS 


KIT 


cots of pine branches and blankets for beds. 
The camp was, like hundreds of others scat- 
tered through the mountains, mere shelters for 
men whose every thought was spent on getting 
gold, and nothing to distinguish one camp from 
another. But this one little group of log houses 
had a name of its own, and was known through- 
out the foot-hills from Denver to James’s Peak 
as Kit’s Camp.” 

Men tramped miles over the mountains to see 
it with their own eyes. There wasn’t a camp 
that didn’t feel itself still linked with the old 
home beyond the plains, through knowing that 
a child-life lived in the midst of their rough and 
wild surroundings ; and the dwellers in Missouri 
City fought with eacJi other in being the first to 
tell the stranger within their gates : “ This ain’t 
nothin’, stranger; wait till ye see our Kit. A 
baby! Ye hear me? A live baby; an’ the 
only one in Colorado !” 

No one knew anything more about the child 
than the simple fact that he was there. Jim and 
his friends had kept their own counsel, and it 
was supposed that Jim was in some way related 
to the boy. Every one was too intent upon his 
own affairs to trouble himself about his neigh- 
bor’s, and any curiosity which they might have 
had was lost in the greater and never-ceasing 

ii6 • 


KIT 


wonder that a child should be there at all. He 
was ‘^Jim Peters’s Kit,” and that was the end 
of it. 

Kit himself was sitting in the door-way of the 
largest cabin on this September evening, beat- 
ing a tattoo on a tin cup with a knife by way of 
welcome to a man coming slowly up the hill. 
A year and a half had gone by since Jim had 
waded with him in his arms to the shore, and 
his’ handsome little face was browned with sun 
and wind, and he was as healthy and strong as 
plain food and the pure, fresh mountain air 
could make him. He had outgrown the little 
velvet waist and plaid skirt, which had been re- 
placed by rougher nondescript garments of 
Jim’s own manufacture; ’they were not very 
stylish in cut, and the seams were decidedly 
^‘bunchy,” but Jim took great pride in them, 
and would turn Kit round to show off the strong 
points in them : “ Made ’em all myself, every 
stitch o’ ’em, an’ I never held a needle afore.” 

The man coming up the hill had a pick and 
shovel on his shoulder, and he waved his free 
hand in answer to the clattering welcome ; and 
at that the child ran with a joyful shout to meet 
him, and the man threw down the pick and 
shovel and caught him in his arms and kissed 
him, and then set him on the ground and stood 
117 


KIT 


back admiringly : “ Why, Kit, you’ve growed ! 
I declare you’ve growed since mornin’. I never 
see such a child !” 

Kit laughed delightedly. I’m mos’ as big 
as you ; ain’t I, Jim ? An’, Jim, you mus’ make 
me a pair o’ pants an’ take me wiz you to wash 
gold.” 

“ I’m goin’ to. Kit,” he replied, taking up his 
tools and going towards the cabin. “ I’ve been 
turnin’ them pants over in my mind ; an’ 
thinkin’, mebbe, I could slit one o’ the legs o’ 
an old pair o’ mine an’ sew ’em up royal for 
you. But it’s the upper fixin’s that fetches me ; 
I ain’t caught on to that, somehow.” 

They went into the cabin, and Jim lighted the 
fire and began to get ready the supper. Kit put- 
ting the tin plates and the tin cups on the primi- 
tive table, and keeping up a continuous chatter, 
to Jim’s great delight, as he ran here and there. 

“Just to think,” Jim said, half to himself, as 
he turned the sputtering bacon he was frying, 
“ to think that I was goin’ to drop you onto 
somebody, to get rid o’ you. Why, there 
wouldn’t be no livin’ without you. Kit, you 
know.” 

“ There wouldn’t be no one to take care o’ 
you, Jim,” replied Kit, shaking his head with a 
self-importance that was very funny, but which 

ii8 


KIT 


Jim took in all seriousness ; an* the table 
wouldn’t get set, an’ there wouldn’t be no one 
to watch for you at the door. I’m glad you 
took me off that — that ” 

“ Steam-boat,” said Jim. 

“ That — steam-boat that was ” He stopped 

again. 

Busted ?” suggested Jim. 

Busted,” repeated Kit, gravely. An’ I’m 
goin’ to have a gun an’ shoot wabbits, an’ Dan 
says they’re cornin’ now.” And he broke off 
suddenly and ran to the door, and in a moment 
more the other men came in. 

They were the same rough, good-natured 
men as when they had stood around Kit on the 
bluff by the river, only now their clothes were 
old and patched and their faces browned and 
bearded. And after supper they sat around on 
the cabin-floor by the light of the fire and 
smoked their pipes, while Kit nestled close to 
Jim, who had one arm around him. 

“It’s just thro win’ ourselves away,” Dan 
Brown was saying, “to stay here any longer. 
The best claims was all took before we come, 
an’ for the last two weeks it’s been all work an’ 
no pay.” 

“ Hardly seen the color o’ gold in all the dirt 
we’ve dug and sluiced for a month,” assented 
119 


KIT 


Jack Williams, “an’ them sutlers at Missouri 
charge ten prices for every bite we buy.” 

“ This gold-washin’ is about played out, any- 
way,” said another. “ There’s got to be reg’lar 
minin’ done afore long, an’ them that’s got the 
money are the men that’s goin’ to win.” 

“ I seen that red-headed fellow from Cali- 
forny — him they call * Brick Top’ — down in the 
gulch to-day,” said Dan, “ an’ he was full of 
goin’ back where he came from.” 

Jim nodded. “ I seen him, too ; an’ he says 
that nothin’ but stamp-mills an’ deep minin’ will 
ever get the real gold out. He’s coming here 
to-night.” 

The words were hardly spoken when a step 
was heard outside, and the expected visitor 
lounged in and seated himself carelessly on the 
box which served as a table. “ Evenin’, pards. 
Thought as how I’d drop in an’ say good-by ; 
I’m goin’ back to Californy.” 

“You’re makin’ a short stay?” 

“ Sho ! nothin’ here but dirt now ; an’ if I hev 
to dig for the shiners, give me the Sierras every 
time ! That’s a fine boy you’ve got,” he added, 
looking at Kit; “but sluice me dry if I ever 
heerd of bringin’ a child to the diggin’s afore ; 
it rakes the pile. His mammy dead ?” 

Jim stroked the little head and drew him 
120 


KIT 


closer. He ain’t got no mammy, an’ no 
pappy, — they was drownded ; there ain’t no one 
but me.” 

“ Drownded ? Sho ! you don’t say ? But 
I reckoned his mammy was dead by the cut of 
his jib; they’re the curiousest clothes I ever 
seen.” 

Jim’s face got red, and the other men laughed, 
and Dan Brown broke in, “Them’s only his 
workin’ rig. Show him your circus clothes. 
Kit. Bring out the spangles.” 

Kit jumped up and ran to a box in the corner 
of the room, and brought the faded little velvet 
blouse with its tarnished gilt buttons, and the 
plaid skirt and stockings, — ^the stockings having 
little more than the legs left, — and laid them out 
with pride upon the table. 

“ Now you’re shoutin’ !” exclaimed the red- 
headed man. “Why you was dressed like a 
Californy nabob. Kit.” He took up the little 
clothes and held them against the child, and then 
tossed them back upon the table and turned to 
go : “ Good-by, Kit. Good luck to ye, pards.” 

“ I’m a Californy miner with my pick an’ iron pan, 

An’ I’m always goin’ to strike it rich to-morrow.” 

And they heard him singing till the distance 
closed him in. 


121 


KIT 


They sat silent for some minutes after he had 
gone. Kit had nestled down again in his favor- 
ite place by Jim’s knee. “ Jim,” the boy said 
suddenly, “ why don’t we go to Californy an’ 
st’ike it wich ?” 

“ Listen to him !” said Jim, looking round 
upon the others admiringly. You’ve got more 
sense. Kit, than the whole lot of us. What do 
you say, Dan ? Speak up, the rest o’ ye. I vote 
with Kit, an’ I’m ready to go to-morrow.” 

There was nothing in the way. They had 
worked out their claim and had saved their 
money, and their free, untrammelled life had 
woven its charm around them, and they were 
ready for any new venture that might open. 
Dan knew where he could get a pair of good 
stout mules to carry Kit and their traps as far 
as Denver, and there they could buy a wagon 
and go to any point they might choose. 

The change of plan was heartily accepted by 
all. This was Monday night, and on Wednes- 
day morning they would start at daybreak on 
their new road. 

Before they turned in for the night Jim went 
to the door to close it, and he stood there so 
long that one of the men asked him if he was 
“ lookin’ for ghosts ? 

No,” he replied ; “ but I’m lookin’ at some- 
122 


KIT 


thin’ I never seen before ; the clouds look as if 
they were afire.” 

The others came out, and all stood together, 
wondering what it might mean. West and 
north and south the skies were lighted up with 
fires, — not flickering and unsteady gleams, but a 
steady, continuous glow. During the day the 
air had been thick and hazy as if with smoke, 
but the hills and the pine woods had intercepted 
any view of the cause, even if they had thought 
that it might be a forest fire. Now it was plain 
that it was not only a fire, but that it must be 
of great extent and burning steadily. It was 
impossible to tell how far it might be away ; but 
the night was still and with hardly a breath of 
wind, and there could be no immediate danger. 
So they came again inside and shut the door. 

But early next morning men came hurrying 
in from mining camps beyond, and reported the 
woods on fire on ever}^ side, and spreading rap- 
idly. The wind, too, had risen, and was blow- 
ing from the west, and the air was not only 
thick with smoke but full of the smell of burn- 
ing. By noon the alarm was general, and the 
work in the gulches stopped, and all Missouri 
City poured itself out to fight the fires. It was 
an army of men with picks and shovels and 
axes, fighting to save their homes and to beat 
123 


KIT 


back the flames. They made trenches, they 
piled up earth, they cut down trees, they lighted 
back fires. They drew the line of defence in a 
half-circle, a mile from the town, and all that 
afternoon and night every man who had so 
much as a dollar to lose worked hard and des- 
perately. 

By sunrise Wednesday morning they had 
won the hard-fought fight. The course of the 
fire was stayed, and Missouri City and the camps 
around it were saved. Nothing remained to be 
done but to check any fires that might start in- 
side the line from burning embers carried by 
the wind, and to set guards to' see that it was 
cared for. 

Then the workers returned to their homes, 
and Missouri City, which from Tuesday until 
Wednesday noon had been as solitary and de- 
serted as a city of the dead, again took on its 
customary noise and bustle and excitement, in- 
creased by the clamor of voices discussing the 
events of the fire, and with a prospect of being 
worse rather than better for the experience 
through which it had gone. 

In the gray dawn of that Wednesday morn- 
ing two mules laden with miner’s tools, and 
accompanied by five bearded men in patched 
and well-worn clothes, were climbing toilsomely 
124 


KIT 


up the long Smith’s Hill by Clear Creek Canon. 
They stopped to rest upon the top for a few 
minutes, then disappeared from sight behind it. 

And on one of the mules was Kit. 

III. The Man at the Grand Hotel. 

The Grand Hotel, San Francisco, was a gen- 
eral meeting-place for the men of all nations. 

Ruddy, well-fed Englishmen and alert, wide- 
awake Yankees jostled in the halls and waiting- 
rooms and wide verandas with swarthy, long- 
haired Caballeros from Mexico, and fair-faced 
Germans from over-sea; ranchmen with well- 
lined pockets elbowed sleek, cool gamblers 
waiting for a chance to transfer the lining to 
themselves ; and miners from the hills, in wide- 
brimmed hats and red shirts, and trousers 
tucked into their boots, sauntered in and out 
with free-and-easy air, as if they owned the 
place and its belongings. 

In the office the clerk had just turned the 
hotel register towards a dozen new arrivals who 
stood in line at the desk to sign their names. 

One of them was a tall and well-dressed man, 
apparently not more than thirty-five years of age, 
though his dark hair was already slightly sprin- 
kled with gray, and the keen dark eyes and firm 
mouth and quiet, resolute bearing marked him 
125 


KIT 


as one who was accustomed to have his orders 
obeyed. He was the last man in the line ; and 
when the clerk had given him the pen, he signed 
the register in a clear, business hand, Henry 
Sherlock, New York. 

The clerk glanced at it, and put opposite the 
number of his room and touched a bell : “ Take 
this gentleman’s baggage to No. 14, second 
floor. Dinner from one to three, sir.” 

The variegated human stream flowed in and 
out and collected in groups of twos and threes, 
and then flowed on again ; and after dinner Mr. 
Sherlock went outside and sat on the veranda 
and watched the changing scene. He had been 
sitting there for half an hour when a man came 
up the steps, stopped short, and looked sharply 
at him, and then came forward with his hand out- 
stretched. 

” Halloa, Sherlock ! Who ever thought to 
see you here ?” 

Mr. Sherlock got up and shook hands heart- 
ily : “ Why, Morton, it’s ten years since I saw 
you last. When did you come ?” 

‘‘ Me ? Oh, I’m living here. I took Greeley’s 
advice and came out as soon as I left Harvard. 
But what brings you here ?” 

“ I’ve come to look after the affairs of the 
Rosita Mining Company. I’m president of the 
126 


KIT 


concern, and, being rather overworked by that 
and other business, I thought Td take a vaca- 
tion and see the Rosita property at the same 
time.” 

Business and pleasure together, eh ? That 
seldom works well for the pleasure side of it. 
But tell me a little about yourself and every- 
thing that has happened.” 

They sat down together. There isn’t much 
to tell. I went into my uncle’s office in Wall 
Street for a while, after leaving old Harvard ; 
and when I had the run of the business a little 
in hand, I tried it for myself It was uphill 
work at first, but I got along, and now, I sup- 
pose, I might be called fairly successful.” 

Any family ?” 

“ Yes, I have a wife, but no children. We 
had one child, — a little boy ; but we lost him. 
He was drowned a year and a half ago.” 

Ah ! I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Yes, he was drowned, and we never re- 
covered the body. We were going to New 
Orleans at the time, and took steamer from 
Cairo, — my wife and myself and the little boy ; 
he was then nearly three years old. But in 
leaving the wharf the boat somehow struck the 
bridge. The river was high, and I suppose the 
pilot couldn’t control the steering, and the hull 
127 


KIT 


broke from the upper deck and sank, and we were 
all in danger of drowning. At the time of the 
accident we were all at supper, and the nurse had 
taken the child, and in the darkness and confu- 
sion and the panic of the passengers we couldn’t 
find him, but thought it certain that both he 
and the nurse had been taken off by one of the 
tug-boats which had followed and rescued us. 
But we never saw the child again. The nurse 
had got separated from him in the rush of the 
crowd to get off the sinking deck to the tugs, 
and he must have been left behind and been 
drowned.” 

A miner, in a bright-red woollen shirt, and 
with hair that rivalled it in color, was standing 
near by, leaning against one of the pillars of the 
veranda, and appeared to be taking a languid 
interest in the story. 

“ And you never found a trace of him ?” asked 
Morton. 

Mr. Sherlock shook his head. No, not a 
trace. The wrecked upper half of the steam- 
boat was found by a tug-boat which I sent off 
next morning, stranded and half sunk on the 
right bank of the Mississippi, but there was no 
sign of the little boy. I employed agents, and 
advertised everywhere along the river, in hope 
of recovering the body; but all failed. And 
128 


KIT 


there was no chance of mistaking the child if 
the body had been found ; he had dark hair and 
eyes, a handsome little fellow, and he wore at 
the time a black velvet waist with gilt buttons, 
and a Scotch plaid skirt and plaid stockings. 
No ; he was lost forever. My wife was broken- 
hearted, and it made an old man of me before 
my time. 

The red-headed man had come gradually 
nearer, till he was now standing close by the 
speaker’s chair, and at this moment he touched 
him on the shoulder. “ How old did you say 
the boy was ?” 

Mr. Sherlock turned in surprise, but, seeing 
only sympathy and eager interest in the ques- 
tioner’s eyes, he answered courteously, “ He 
would be four years old now, sir, if he had 
lived,” and then turned again to Mr. Morton. 

But the man persisted : An’ he had a little 
black velvet jacket, with gold buttons an’ them 
other fixin’s ye was tellin’ of?” 

“ Yes,” replied Mr. Sherlock, still more sur- 
prised, and staring hard at him. 

“Then, by the jumpin’ jiminy ! I’ve seen yer 
boy, an’ he ain’t any more dead than I am !” 

Both gentlemen stood up, and Mr. Sherlock 
turned white and steadied himself on the chair. 
“ You’ve seen him ! Where ?” 

129 


9 


KIT 


“ In Kit’s Camp, at the head o’ Clear Creek 
Canon, in Colorado. The young un’s name, ye 
see, is Kit, an’ he’s livin’ with some miners what 
thinks his folks is all drowned. Le’ me git ye 
a brandy stiff'ner, mister ; ye’re a little shaky in 
the legs.” 

“ No, no ; I’ll be all right in a moment. You 
think that ” 

“ Kit ? I’m dead sure of it. He don’t belong 
to them miners, an’ I seen them clothes with my 
own eyes. An' for the right-outest wallopinest 
young un' ye ever see^ty yer ought to be proud of 
him !” 

And your name, sir ?” 

“ Brick Top is what I goes by mostly. I was 
up there tryin’ them diggin’s, an’ that there Kit 
hisself brought out them things an’ showed ’em 
to me, ’cos I laughed at the cur’ous way he’s 
rigged up now. Shoot me dead if it wouldn’t 
make a quartz rock split itself laughin’.” 

Be careful, Sherlock,” said Morton ; “ you 
may build false hopes on a mere accidental 
resemblance ?” 

^'No,” replied Mr. Sherlock; ‘Ht is unac- 
countable how my little Harry should be in a 
miner’s camp in the Rocky Mountains, but I 
feel that what this man says is true. — Sit down, 
sir,” he said to Brick Top. Morton, find out 
130 


KIT 


at once the quickest way to Colorado. Now, 
sir, where is this Clear Creek Canon ? Tell me 
everything.” 

Brick Top sat down. “ Your pard is a keer- 
ful hand,” he said, “but I reckon I’ve got the 
lay-over in this business.” He counted off on 
the fingers of his hand : “ There’s the boy, an’ 
the clothes, an’ his bein’ the right age, an’ his 
pappy and his mammy bein’ drowned, — an’ them 
four aces rakes the pile.” 

They talked on for an hour, Mr. Sherlock 
asking over and over again a hundred questions 
about Kit. And when he had learned all that 
Brick Top had to tell, he rose and took the 
miner’s hand: “You’ve done something for me 
to-day that I’ll never forget ; and if I find that 
child you will hear from me again. Here is my 
card and address. Write and tell me where you 
can be found.” 

“All right; I’ll let ye know. I’ll be con- 
sarned glad to hear ye got yer boy.” And he 
went down the steps singing to himself, — 

“ I’m a Califomy miner with my pick an’ iron pan, 

An’ I’m always goin’ to strike it rich to-morrow.” 

How that afternoon and evening passed away 
Mr. Sherlock never could remember. There 
was, first of all, a letter to be written to his wife. 


KIT 


— not too abrupt nor too hopeful a letter, but 
enough to prepare her for a great surprise to 
come. But the rest of the day was a blank; 
and with the first light of the next morning he 
was up and ready for the journey. His heart 
laughed with the “ Tra-la-la !” of the driver’s 
bugle as the overland stage rattled up to the 
door of the Grand Hotel; and never did four 
fast horses carry a happier or more eager pas- 
senger as they went at full swing down street 
and away. 

But there were mountains to be crosesd, and 
long miles of plain to be got over, and it seemed 
as if that journey would never end. But he was 
in Denver at last ; and in fifteen minutes from 
the time the stage stopped he was in the office 
of a livery-stable. 

Let me have a buggy and a driver, and the 
two best horses you have, to Missouri City and 
return.” 

“Yes, sir; ready in ten minutes, sir.” And 
as the buggy rattled off the stable-keeper turned 
to one of his men, “ He’s got thirty miles before 
him, Joe, and half of it uphill, but he’ll make 
it before night, — I saw it in his eye.” 

And he did make it. From the time he took 
his seat beside the driver he never spoke a word 
till the horses were trotting down the irregular 
132 


KIT 


main street of the log-built Missouri City, and 
then he only said, half under his breath, “ Drive 
me on to Kit’s Camp.” 

I can’t,” said the driver, reining in his team. 
“ There ain’t no road beyond this ; nothing but 
a trail.” 

“ Very well. Put up your horses here for the 
night ; we will go back in the morning.” 

He got down. 

The street, as usual, was full of men, and the 
saloons and gambling-houses were beginning to 
be lighted up for their evening’s business. A 
little crowd had gathered about the buggy as it 
stopped, and he spoke to the man nearest him. 
“ Can you tell me the way to Kit’s Camp ?” 

He did not ask any one to go with him ; he 
wanted to be alone. 

“ Straight down to the end of the street, 
stranger, an’ then follow the trail to the left ; you 
can’t miss it. ’Tain’t much to see now,” he 
added, as the stranger started to go ; “ there’s 
nothin’ there but log cabins, now that Kit’s 
gone.” 

Mr. Sherlock stopped and turned. “ Now 
that Whatr 

“ Now that Kit’s gone. Our Kit, ye know ; 
must have heerd of our Kit.” 

“ Goner 


133 


KIT 


Gone, scooped, vamoosed ; left the diggin’s, 
ye know.” 

“ Where did he go ?” The questioner passed 
his hand across his forehead as if dazed. 

“ May I never git the drop on another man if 
I can tell ye. There was a rip-roarin’ fire here 
in the woods, an’ every man in Missouri City 
an’ all around went out to fight it ; not a soul 
that didn’t go. An’ next mornin’ Kit an’ all his 
crew was gone, an’ there wasn’t no one that had 
seen ’em; clean left, an’ not a word from ’em 
since. An’ we reckon that, like as not, the boy 
follered the men to the fire, an’ they was all 
burned.” 

But their cabin and their tools ?” 

“ We ain’t no tender-foots, stranger, and we 
thought of all that. There wasn’t nothin’ in 
the cabin worth takin’ with ’em, an’ if they was 
at the fire they’d have their picks an’ shovels 
an’ axes with ’em in the woods. There wasn’t 
nothin’ to tell by that way, an’ I’ve got a 
standin’ bet of ten dollars with Coonskin Joe 
that we’ll come across their skeletins.” 

Mr. Sherlock slowly turned away. The dis- 
appointment was so sharp and sudden that he 
needed time to get over the first great shock of 
it. It was almost like losing his child a second 
time. He went on down the street, and put 
134 


KIT 


up for the night at the best reputed so-called 
hotel, and there questioned more trustworthy 
informers. 

He found that a pair of mules had been pre- 
viously purchased, and that everything pointed 
towards an intentional departure. But as to the 
main facts there could be no doubt. Kit and 
his friends had gone, and there had been nobody 
to see them go. 

The next morning saw a notice on the bulletin- 
board of the hotel, and other notices in the same 
words at the prominent places of the town, — 

*'$5000 REWARD. 

“ The above reward will be given for any 
information which shall lead to the recovery of 
the child of Henry Sherlock, Esq., of New 
York. The boy is about four years old, with 
dark hair and dark eyes. He was supposed to 
have been lost on the steamer ‘ Morewood,’ 

Cairo to New Orleans, which was wrecked by 
collision with a pier of the bridge. The boy is 
known as ‘ Kit,’ and he was last seen with a 
man named Jim Peters, and others, in the ‘ Kit 
Camp,’ near Missouri City. Five thousand dol- 
lars will be paid to any one who shall give definite 
information as to where the child can be found. 

“ Address, 

“ Henry Sherlock, 

“ Grand Hotel, San Francisco, 

“ or 52 Wall Street, New York.” 

135 


KIT 


IV. The Rosita Mine. 

It was the middle of December. The air was 
clear and frosty, and the jets of steam which 
rose in steady, regular puffs from the shaft-house 
on the mountain-side showed white as snow 
against the blue sky. The stamps in the stamp- 
mill pounded away, crushing into powder the 
quartz-bearing rock which was bringing the gold 
to its owners ; and wagons were coming and go- 
ing, stirring up the white dust on the road, and 
making the mules and drivers look as if they 
had sifted flour. 

On the opposite side of the gulch, straggling 
irregularly over the hill-side, were some three 
hundred roughly-built frame houses. They 
were for the most part only one story high, con- 
taining a couple of rooms each, and the larger 
houses of the superintendent and managers of 
the works, at the upper end of the gulch and 
close by the big company store and stables, 
looked aristocratic in comparison. 

A mere semblance of a road led from the 
store to the houses on the hill, winding in front 
of one and behind another, so that it was im- 
possible to say whether the road had been there 
before the houses or the houses before the road. 
That, at least, was the question in the mind of a 
136 


KIT 


red-headed man in a woollen shirt and corduroy- 
trousers, who was coming over the hill and 
bearing down towards the store. “ Looks as if 
they’d been throwed there,” he said aloud to 
himself, “an’ just happened to light that way. 
An’ yon shaft must be the Rosita.” 

He was going by one of the shanties as he 
spoke, and his attention had apparently been 
attracted by something he had caught a glimpse 
of in passing, for he stopped and went back a 
few paces. 

On the slope of the hill behind the house, and 
about fifty feet up from the road, a child was 
digging in the ground with a kitchen-knife. 
His back was towards the man, and he was 
absorbed in what he was doing. 

“ Hello !” 

The child turned round. “ Hello !” 

“ Kit ! Well, if this don’t beat all, ye can put 
my head in a stamp-mill. Where’s your pap ?” 

“ I hain’t got no pap.” He turned back to 
his work and continued digging. “ My pap’s 
drowned. There ain’t no one but Jim.” 

The man went on down the hill. “ Then it 
wasn’t the right boy, after all,” he said to him- 
self, “ an’ the clothes and everything was wrong ; 
an’ I thought I held a full hand !” 

But at supper-time he came back, and met 
137 


KIT 


with a warm welcome. He found Jim and Kit 
behind the house, sitting together at the spot 
where the boy had been digging that morning. 
“ He’s playin’ at diggin’ a mine,” Jim explained, 
when the greetings were over ; “ he’s got a hole 
here more’n a foot deep already, an’ he says he’s 
goin’ to ‘ st’ike it wich !’ ” and Jim winked at the 
new-comer in great amusement. If Kit had 
wanted Jim’s ears to put in that hole, it is 
doubtful whether he could not have had them. 

Then they went inside and there were many 
questions to ask and to answer, while Jim ex- 
plained how he and his friends happened to be 
there. How they had not had much luck, being 
like thousands of others who had been smitten 
with gold fever, and who had come to a new 
land, without experience and without knowledge 
of the conditions; and how, while travelling 
farther westward, they had heard everywhere of 
the famous Rosita and the big wages that were 
paid at that mine, and had resolved to go there 
and work and save their money until they 
could go prospecting for themselves. And how 
he and Kit were living by themselves and had 
almost no rent to pay ; for all that side of the 
hill was owned by the president of the Rosita 
Company, and he had put up the houses and 
was content with small returns. 

138 


KIT 


And then there was Kit’s new outfit to be ad- 
mired, for Jim had carried out his idea of “ split- 
ting one leg of his old trousers,” and Brick Top 
did not conceal his unbounded delight at the 
extraordinary result to poor Kit. But though 
he easily discovered that Mr. Sherlock had 
altogether missed finding them, never a word 
did he speak of what he had seen and heard. 
He had his own idea of what ought to be done, 
and he kept his own counsel. 

When he came back the next evening he 
found Jim and Kit again on the hill-side, digging 
away at the hole. To please the child, Jim had 
entered into the spirit of the play, and had dug 
it deeper. It was now about four feet deep, and 
Jim was standing in it and shovelling out the 
dirt, while Kit was busy piling it up in imitation 
of the great dump at Rbsita. / 

Their visitor sat down just below them. “A 
reg’lar miner. Kit, ain’t ye ? There ain’t many 
spots, Jim, on this hill where ye could dig like 
that ; most of it’s hard rock and slate, an’ not 
enough earth on it to grow grass on.” 

A lump of dirt rolled down from Kit’s dump, 

and he took it in his hand. “ Now, this here ” 

He stopped, and lifted the lump closer to his 
face, and broke it in his hand. His experienced 
eye had noted something unusual. Kit, my 
139 


KIT 


boy, run into the house an’ bring me a pan with 
some water in it ; any kind of a pan will do.” 

Kit ran down, and came back in a few min- 
utes with a small pan half full of water. The 
miner crumbled some of the dirt into it, and then 
tilted it to and fro, pouring off the muddy water 
little by little, till there was only a handful of 
watery sediment left in the pan. Then he in- 
clined the pan and tilted it slowly to the right 
and left, looking sharply at the edges of the 
muddy sand as it flowed from him and towards 
him. 

Then he laid it down and went up and looked 
at the hole. “ It’s only a ‘ chimney,’ ” he said, at 
length ; “ but from the looks of things it may 
go down a good way. Kit, ye’ve struck it rich 
at last, — there's gold, an' good gold, in that hole /” 

Mr. Sherlock was sitting in his office in Wall 
Street, looking over a pile of letters and papers 
which lay before him on the desk, and noting 
rapidly with a pencil from time to time the dis- 
position to be made of them. He had hence- 
forth but one thing before him, — ^to find his boy ; 
and he had hurried to New York to arrange his 
business, so that he might be free to continue 
his search as long and as far as might be neces- 
sary. His head clerk could be trusted to carry 
140 


KIT 


out all matters of detail, and he was now busy 
in marking down final directions. At last all 
was finished except a batch of letters which had 
come by the afternoon mail. He hastily tore 
them open and glanced over them, and then 
swept them all aside as he bent over a half-sheet 
of foolscap paper which he had drawn from the 
last envelope, and which was scrawled in an 
unsteady hand. 

“ Mister Sherlock, — IVe found your Kit, 
up here at the Rosita, an’ I’ll hev him fer ye 
this time, if I hev to sit on him till ye come. 
So no more from yours truly, 

“Brick Top. 

“ P.S. — I ain’t told Jim yet. 

'‘P.S. — Kit is screamin’ in a split leg o’ Jim’s : 
thought I should die. B. T.” 

“ At the Rosita.” Mr. Sherlock folded up the 
letter and thanked God, 

The final postscript was both mysterious and 
alarming, but at least Kit was still alive. Not 
dead and white at the bottom of the river, the 
dark hair tangled in the weeds, and the dear 
little face looking so helpless and forsaken, — oh, 
the thousand times he had seen it so in his 
dreams! And not burned and lost forever in 
141 


KIT 


the Colorado woods ; but saved, — saved and 
alive ! Would he ever be able to show the dear 
little fellow how he loved him? Would he 
ever be able to thank God enough for the child 
who had been given back to him from the dead ? 

The train which left New York that night for 
Chicago carried a different man from the one 
who had left San Francisco four months before 
on his first anxious journey. The passengers 
with whom he travelled by rail and stage thought 
him the most cheerful and agreeable companion 
they had ever met ; and when a woman travelling 
alone with a sick and crying baby made everybody 
wish that she had stayed at home, it was a certain 
New York broker who took the child in his arms 
and walked it up and down and stilled its restless- 
ness. And the woman wondered what he meant 
when she thanked him and he replied, I hope 
you’ll never lose him, ma’am ; they don’t always 
come back from the dead.” She thought the 
poor gentleman was not quite right in his mind. 

But as the long journey came near an end, and 
in one more day he must leave the stage for the 
mountain road to Rosita, the anxious time came 
back again. Would he know his boy at once ? 
Would little Harry know him ? Was it even 
certain that he would find him there, or, if he 
found him, that a more terrible disappointment 
142 


KIT 


might not come ? He was once more silent and 
reserved, and the restless eagerness of his eyes 
showed the repressed excitement within him. 

At Montreville he left the stage ; he had still 
ten miles to go. There was no chance of miss- 
ing the road, and he decided to go on horseback ; 
it would give him an opportunity to be alone, 
and he wanted time to think of the best way to 
arrange for the first meeting. 

But he couldn’t think. It was uphill all the 
way, and the mountains rose grandly around 
him, and deep valleys, dark with forests of pine, 
stretched away on every side, but he did not 
seem to see them ; he had not even ears with 
which to hear, until the sharp steam-whistle of 
the Rosita, sounding for six o’clock, came over 
an intervening hill. 

Then he quickened his horse, and was again 
the keen, steady man of business, and so rode 
down and dismounted at the company store. 
“ My name is Sherlock,” he said. “ I am the 
president of the Rosita Company; please tell 
the superintendent that I am here.” 

The superintendent came, and they went to- 
gether to his house, where they had supper and 
talked about the affairs of the mine, the chief 
manager being much surprised at the way the 
consultation ended. Was there a child any- 
143 


KIT 


where among the miners? Yes? And the 
man’s name was Jim Peters ? Would the super- 
intendent step to the door and point out the ex- 
act house? No, he would not trouble him to 
go along, he had a little private business to at- 
tend to, and would be back presently. 

He went along the winding road to the house 
which had been pointed out to him, and, hesi- 
tating for a moment, knocked at the door. It 
was opened by Jim, who looked in surprise at 
his visitor. 

“ Is this where Mr. Peters lives ?” 

“ My name is Jim Peters, sir.” 

Mr. Sherlock gave a searching look at the 
open, honest face of the man before him, and 
put out his hand. “ My name is Sherlock. I 
have come to see you on a very important mat- 
ter, and I would like to have a talk with you.” 

Jim thought to himself, “ He has heard about 
Kit’s mine. Come in, sir,” he said aloud ; “ we 
can talk in here.” 

Mr. Sherlock entered and glanced around 
him ; there was no one there but himself and 
Jim. He took the wooden chair Jim offered 
him, and sat silent for a few minutes, looking at 
the fire. Then he turned round and looked 
straight at Jim, who was waiting for him to 
begin. 


144 


KIT 


‘‘ Jim,” he said, “ I suppose you are usually 
called Jim? Well, what I want to speak of 
begins a good way back.” He paused for a 
moment while the miner looked at him steadily. 

“There was once a man who started on a 
journey with his wife and little boy. They got 
on a steam-boat at Cairo for New Orleans. But 
they never arrived there. The steam-boat was 
wrecked, broken against a bridge, but the 
parents and all the other passengers were 
saved ; all except the little boy. 

“ It was believed that he was drowned. The 
upper half of the wrecked boat was found 
stranded on the bank of the Mississippi, but 
no trace of the child was ever discovered. I 
need not tell you how the parents sorrowed 
for their only child. They did not even find 
his dead body; and yet if it had ever been 
recovered, they would have known it even by 
the clothes he wore; he had on a little velvet 
blouse, and a Scotch plaid skirt and stockings.” 
He paused again. “ Did you ever hear of such 
a child?” 

Jim had never taken his eyes away from the 
face opposite him. His own face had the 
strained and startled expression of a man who 
thinks he sees a ghost. He tried to speak, but 
the voice would not come, and at last there came 
t45 


10 


KIT 


a husky whisper which he did not know was 
his,— Kit !” 

‘^Then it is Kit? You found him , — KitV 

There was a sudden noise of tramping feet, 
and voices at the door. Bless me into the 
middle o’ next week if ye haven’t walked the 
legs clean off me. Kit.” And then a child’s 
laugh in answer. “ You ain’t as strong as me. 
Brick Top, are you ?” 

The door opened and the two came in, and 
Kit ran to Jim. “ I walked his legs clean off, 
Jim ; an’ I want some supper.” 

Jim put his arm around him, and turned him 
to face Mr. Sherlock, holding him so and wait- 
ing. Brick Top put his back against the door, 
and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “ Well, 
I'm blessed !” 

The child looked at the stranger, at first in 
mere surprise at finding a stranger there, then 
with a steady, wondering look in his childish 
eyes, as if the little brain still faintly held the 
broken threads of recollection. 

Mr. Sherlock held out his arms. “ Harry, 
my own little Harry, won’t you come to me ?” 

Kit looked into his eyes a full minute longer. 
Then he slowly crossed the room and came close 
up to him, and his father caught him to his arms, 
and lifted him on his knee, and held him close. 

146 


KIT 


“ My boy ! my own dear boy !” 

“ Kit,” said Jim, still huskily, — “ Kit, yer won’t 
forgit old Jim ?” 

And Kit slipped to the floor, and ran across, 
and jumped into his lap, and hugged him with 
both arms around his neck. And Brick Top 
stared at all of them together, and ejaculated 
with intense conviction," Well, I am blessed !” 

There was no work done at the Rosita next 
morning. 

Brick Top had spread the news overnight, 
and had interviewed the superintendent and 
managers, assuring them that every man had 
sworn he would be on hand to see Kit off. 

And every man was there. And while they 
waited in front of the superintendent’s house 
they talked of "Jim,” and "Jim’s luck,” for Jim 
was owner of the " Chimney” Mine, and Brick 
Top was to be the working partner, and had a 
check for ;^5000 in his pocket to begin on. 

And then Mr. Sherlock and Kit and Jim came 
out upon the steps, and the men cheered them- 
selves hoarse for all three. 

And Jim walked beside the buggy all the way 
up the hill ; and when it had reached the top, 
and the last good-byes had been said, he stood 
there still. And when, at the foot of the hill 
147 


KIT 


below him, the road turned off, and the Rosita 
would be left behind them, Kit leaned out and 
looked back, Jim was still standing there, waving 
his hat with one hand and wiping the tears from 
his honest eyes with the other. But he had 
promised that he would see Kit again. 


148 


A Brilliant Adventure 


W E had arrived in Boston that morning on 
the steamer “ Scythia.” “ We” were my- 
self, unknown to fame as Charley Powers, and 
my friend Russell Mitford, graduates of the year 
before from Columbia College, and, after one 
year’s travelling through Europe, glad to find 
ourselves again at home. 

It was a bright June morning as we entered 
the harbor, whose green islands and forts and 
red-roofed houses were waking up in the early 
morning sun; with Nantasket Beach and its 
hotels and cottages on the left, and in front the 
city sloping upward from the sea, and crowned 
with the golden dome of the State House, which 
burned in the sun as if on fire, — in short, as only 
Boston harbor can look as you enter it some 
bright morning from the sea. 

We were on the deck, taking in the beautiful 
scene and agreeing that not even Naples could 
equal what we saw before us, when Mitford 
abruptly changed the subject of our thoughts. 

“ Well, Charley, we will soon be on shore, — 
and now what’s next on the programme ?” 

149 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


“ What do you say to a day in Boston ? We 
can telegraph to Cleveland that we have arrived, 
and we can start by train to-morrow morning.” 

“All right, old fellow. I’m in for anything; 
and I speak for a tramp into the country around 
here, if it were only to find that my land legs are 
in their right places again.” 

Now, I was not an “ old fellow,” having just 
turned my twenty-fifth year, and Russell Mitford 
was only three years my junior. 

But he looked much younger than myself; 
he was tall and well made, and had pulled stroke 
oar on the crack crew of the “ Columbia,” — but 
he had a fine, delicate, high-bred face, smiling 
brown eyes, and a boyish frankness in his looks 
and movements which, in spite of the slight 
moustache which shadowed his upper lip, made 
him seem much younger by contrast with my 
graver face and soberer ways. 

I had always been “ old,” in fact, had been 
born old, and had deepened into a plain, matter- 
of-fact individual who had got life’s problems 
down to an algebraic equation, and who meas- 
ured all poetry and sentiment with a carpenter’s 
two-foot rule. But Russell was of another kind. 
He used to quote, laughingly, — 

“ Oh, no, my lord, — ^but then, you see, a star danced, 

And under that I was born;” 

ISO 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


and one might easily have believed it, for he had 
a fund of high spirits which never seemed to 
flag ; and he had, besides, such a way of ideal- 
izing, — I cannot exactly describe it, but he often 
threw such an imaginative coloring over what to 
me were hard, prosaic facts, that I used to say in 
reply that he had always lived in his star and had 
never fairly g6t into our world. 

He was full now of the proposed excursion ; 
and as soon as we had landed and had gone 
through the customary overhauling and passing 
of baggage, he led the way up State Street, and 
did not speak till we were in the street-cars for 
Cambridge. 

“ Let’s get out of the city first ; I want to get 
my feet on a good country road, and then we’ll 
have a swing for it.” 

In his own words, I was “ ready for anything,” 
and when at length the car turned past the old 
Washington elm in Cambridge we got out and 
looked about us. 

All roads go to Rome ; straight ahead, old 
fellow, and we’ll soon have all the houses behind 
us.” 

But, though the village of Cambridge with its 
spires and college towers was soon behind us 
as we swung at a good pace along the road, the 
houses remained with us. The road was white 

151 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


and hard, and on either side, at intervals, and 
back from the highway, among trees and lawns 
and gardens, were elegant residences, often half 
hidden from view by the shrubbery around them. 

These grew fewer and farther between as we 
went onward. On our left were wide fields and 
meadows, and on our right a strip of woods with 
large forest-trees, close to the road and inviting 
in the coolness of their deep shadowy spaces. 
We seemed at last to have left the civilization 
behind us, and after a long stretch without a 
house in view, I was beginning to think that 
Russell might have been right after all, and that 
no further sign of human dwelling-place would 
greet us, when he stopped and pointed through 
the trees. 

“ Isn’t that a house in yonder ?” 

“ Where ?” 

“ In there ; in the woods.’* 

We crossed the road and looked over the 
stone wall which bordered it on the other side, 
and could make out what seemed a large stone 
house with old-fashioned gables. 

I’ll bet that’s one of their old colonial man- 
sions, ‘ formerly Washington’s head- quarters,’ 
and ‘ with the room the general slept in,’ and ‘the 
window he looked out of,’ and all the rest of the 
old times.” 


152 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


** Well, what if it is ?” I answered ; we will 
suppose your bet is won, and go on till you find 
a farm-house for dinner; I’m getting hungry.” 
And I turned to go off again upon the road. 

Hold on a bit !” And he leaned his arms 
on the wall. 

Yes, Charley, that’s an old ' colonial’ ; and 
if you were in there you would see the ancient 
mistress of the mansion coming down the wide 
stairs in stiff satin gown and silk slippers, and 
powdered hair set high above her little face; 
and she would give you welcome in all the state- 
liness of the dear old Revolutionary grand- 
mothers. I’m going in to see,” he said, suddenly, 
and, putting one hand on the wall, leaped over it 
at the word. 

Nonsense, Russell ; come on and finish our 
walk ; you’re not in earnest ?” 

“ But indeed I am,” he answered, laughingly. 
“ I’m going to pay my court to the old lady 
inside here, and if you don’t come you’ll miss a 
brilliant adventure.” And he began to move 
forward among the trees. 

There was nothing for it but either to wait for 
his return or to join him in his absurd whim ; 
and, after a moment’s hesitation, I got over the 
wall and stood at his side. 

‘‘ There must be a road here somewhere,” he 
153 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


said, looking around him ; but, as we found out 
afterwards, the road entrance was at a point 
higher up on the way we were travelling. So 
we went on through the trees, and at last came 
out in front of the house which we had caught 
a glimpse of from the roadway. A large, old- 
fashioned stone house of many gables and pro- 
jecting dormer windows, with a clear space in 
front, half in lawn and half in flowers; wide 
stone steps leading up to the door with its great 
brass knocker, — everything as Russell had im- 
agined it, but no sign of life, except the smoke 
curling lazily from some chimney in the rear. 

We stood and looked at it a while, and then 
Russell began in the same strain as before. 

“ Now, this is what I call a real home and a 
cosey nest to rest in after all my wanderings ; 
but where is the welcome I told you of, and 
where is the little mistress of the mansion trip- 
ping down ” 

There was a sudden muffling of his voice as 
a hand was suddenly placed on his lips from be- 
hind, and as suddenly a young girl had her other 
arm around him and had kissed him on both 
cheeks, crying out, in mingled tears and smiles, — 

“ Oh, Russell, I’m so glad ! But how could 
you — why didn’t you ?” And then, seeing a 
third person standing near, and certainly with 
154 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


astonishment depicted on his features, she 
stopped, still half laughing and half crying, but 
with eyes fixed on Russell’s face. 

To say that that young gentleman was dumb 
and transfixed with astonishment but slightly 
expresses it. His colonial romance had sud- 
denly taken life in a pretty, dark-haired, bright- 
eyed girl of some eighteen years, who had thrown 
herself impulsively into his arms, had called him 
by name, and had welcomed him with kisses to 
a place on which he had never set eyes before. 

“ I’m afraid,” he began, confusedly, stepping 
back and blushing to the roots of his hair, — 
“ I’m afraid — there has been a mistake — I ” 

“ Yes, you dear old boy,” the girl interrupted 
him. “ Of course you thought we’d all be here 
to meet you. But how could you think of not 
letting us know ?” And then she looked at me 
and held out her hand in a frank, winning way 
that was irresistible. “ This must be the Carl 
that you wrote us about so much ? We will be 
very glad to know him.” 

Russell looked at me helplessly. 

“ I — ahem ! I call him Charley, usually.” 

“ Yes, of course,” she answered, smilingly, as 
I took her hand, not knowing at the moment 
what else to do ; “ you haven’t lost your English 
language while you were abroad. And you’ve 

155 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


changed a good deal, too,” she said, looking 
again into Russell’s face ; “ but I would know 
you anywhere. But come into the house,” she 
went on, eagerly ; “ your room has been ready 

for you for a week, and ” She was going 

towards the house, and now stopped and frowned 
a little, and then, with a look of surprise ; “ But 
by what steamer did you come, and how did you 
miss mother ?” 

Russell had turned to me and whispered, 
“ The girl is out of her mind. But if she isn’t, 
it will never do to roughly undeceive her now. 
We’ll get out of it some way.” And as her last 
words came to him, he answered, hesitatingly, 
“We came on the ‘Scythia’ and got in this 
morning.” 

“This morning?” she repeated, in evident 
surprise ; “ and on the ‘ Scythia’ ? But come in 
and we’ll have the whole story afterwards.” 

I had a vague notion of breaking for the 
woods as the best way out of a situation which 
was momentarily becoming more awkward ; but 
Russell had followed the graceful girl, who was 
already mounting the steps, and there was noth- 
ing to do but to see the end of it. As we en- 
tered the hall a fourth actor (or actress) was 
added to the comedy in the form of a young 
lady, also very pretty, but a marked contrast to 
156 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


our first acquaintance, in having fair hair and 
blue eyes, as well as being somewhat older. 
She came forward from a room opening off the 
hall, and was greeted with delight by our enter- 
tainer. 

** Oh, Helen, here is Russell and his friend 
Carl — Charles, I mean ; but it’s the same 
thing.” 

The young lady called Helen smiled pleas- 
antly and put out one hand to each of us, 
giving just one glance at my bearded face and 
then fastening her eyes on Russell doubtingly. 

‘‘Why, Helen, I really believe you don’t 
know him” (which was very likely, as she had 
never set eyes on him till that moment). 

“ I knew him in a minute ; and to think of 
three years making such a difference to you, — 
and you and Russell such old friends.” 

“ Oh, I do know him now, of course,” replied 
Helen, though I still noted a shade of doubt in 
her voice ; “ but three years make such a differ- 
ence.” 

“ Yes,” said Russell, who felt desperately that 
he must say something. “ Yes — it makes a dif- 
ference — and” (with a bright look of having 
at last got some solid ground to stand on) — “ I 
think we had better go to our room.” He 
made a motion towards the wide stairway as he 
157 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


spoke, and I, struck mute by his audacity, fol- 
lowed him. 

Our young lady led the way, talking gayly, 
and throwing open a door in the upper hall, 
said, — 

“ There is your old room all ready for you ; 
and when lunch is ready you will hear the bell. 
Oh, I’m so glad to have you home again !” 
And she smiled and nodded brightly to us, and 
the door closed and we were alone. 

We stood staring at each other in silence for 
a moment, and then I, sternly, Now, Russell, 
what does all this mean ?” 

He went to the door and listened, turned the 
key in the lock, looked all around the room, 
and then, taking a deep breath, exclaimed, in 
comical dismay, — 

“ Blamed if I know !” 

“ But those girls, the first one especially, 
seemed to know you.” 

” Never set eyes on them before in my life.” 

“ And why didn’t you tell them so ?” 

” My dear fellow, what could I do ? If you 
had had that pretty girl’s arms around you, and 
had seen the delight in her eyes, and she half 
crying with pleasure.” He threw himself down 
in an easy-chair by one of the windows and 
stretched out his legs. “You see, Charley, I 
158 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


couldn’t be a brute and cover the girl with con- 
fusion or worse, after what she had just done; 
and as far as I was able to think at all, I just 
thought rd better go ahead, and we could slip 
quietly out of it. And then, by George! she 
knew you !” And he laughed out long and 
loud. 

And how do you propose to slip out of it ?” 

‘"I don’t know: get a rope somewhere and 
climb down through the colonial mansion’s 
window.” His eyes twinkled with suppressed 
fun, and as the ridiculous character of the whole 
transaction came before us, we both laughed 
together. 

The room which we were in was large and 
airy and luxuriously furnished. I walked to 
the window by which Russell was sitting and 
looked out. It was at the side of the house, 
and the view was cut off by the nearness of 
the trees, but just then the two girls passed 
below, talking earnestly, but in tones too low to 
be heard. 

There go our two victims,” I said ; “ and by 
all that’s fair, Russell, it’s too bad to deceive 
them.” 

He looked at me, still smiling. “ I rather 
think that the deceived victims are in this room 
at present, and I don’t know where we could 


t 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 

find pleasanter or prettier gaolers. But what 
do you suppose they take us for, or are we in an 
insane asylum ?” 

“ Nonsense ; it’s all clear enough. They have 
been expecting some one — a brother most likely 
— from abroad, and ” 

“ And I have arrived unexpectedly,” he broke 
in with a laugh. But do you suppose a girl 
wouldn’t know her own brother ?” 

“ Not if, as I caught from her words, he had 
been gone three years. That would make her, 
I judge, to have been about fifteen when he left ; 
and, besides, you must somehow strongly re- 
semble him. But it’s very odd he should have 
the same name ?” 

Russell took out a cigar and lighted it. “I 
suppose I can smoke here? Yes, she has the 
advantage of me there. I don’t know what 
under the sun her name is. But, Charley — 
Carl, my boy,” — and he shook again with 
laughter,- — there’s a mother expected home, 
and the father may arrive in a likewise unex- 
pected manner to some of us, and my opinion is 
that as soon as lunch is over we had better try 
the road again.” 

“ And look for some other colonial mansions ? 
If you had taken my advice we shouldn’t have 
got into this scrape.” 

i6o 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


“All right, old fellow. And now, if you’ll 
take mine. I’ll get you out of it.” 

Meanwhile the girls were talking as they 
strolled along the road through the trees. 

“ It’s the strangest thing, Helen, their coming 
in the way they did. To have come in another 
steamer, too, and Russell not to have told us, 
and to have missed mother, too.” 

“ It is very strange, dear.” She stopped and 
pushed a little stone with the toe of her boot. 
“ I thought I should have known Russell any- 
where ; and he did not seem to know me, 
either.” 

“ But you forget, dear,” answered the other, 
eagerly ; “ Russell was only seventeen when he 
went to Leipsic, and three years make such a 
change in a young man. And I think he 
looks splendid; he has grown so fine and 
manly.” 

“ He is very quiet,” replied Helen. “ I should 
have thought he would have shown more pleas- 
ure at getting home.” 

“ Now, don’t be jealous, dear. He has been 
away so long that everything is strange, you 
know; but he will soon be his old dear self 
again.” 

But Helen still tapped the stone with her 

i6i 


IX 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


boot. “ His friend did not seem to have a word 
to say.” 

Now, Helen, you are too bad,” replied the 
other, putting her arm about her friend’s waist 
and gently forcing her along. “ Carl, or Charley, 
as he calls him, is a German, and probably does 
not speak English very well ; and, besides, I 
took them so by surprise. Oh, it was such fun 
to break in on Russell so ! You ought to have 
seen how surprised they were.” And she laughed 
merrily as she recalled it. 

The lunch-bell rang, and surprised us as we 
still sat and discussed the situation. I was 
rising to face the mischief as best I could, when 
Russell laid his hand upon my arm. “ Hold on, 
old fellow ! Wait a minute and they will send 
one to call us, and I’ll wager my head I’ll get 
some light on this mystery.” 

The event proved him right ; for after a few 
moments there came a knock at the door and a 
gray-haired darky presented himself. 

“ An old servitor of the family,” Russell 
hastily whispered to me ; and then, “ I think I 
know you very well, uncle. You remember 
me, don’t you ?” And he put out his hand. 

“ I don’t just ’member you, sah,” the old griz- 
zle-headed replied, grinning and bowing in the 
162 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


door- way. “ I just corned, sah, a month ago 
yistidday, sah.” 

''Oh, ah — yes, to be sure; that’s what I 
meant. — What the deuce are you laughing at, 
Charley ? — And — ah — the young lady down- 
stairs, — the one with the dark hair ?” 

‘‘ Miss Edith, sah ? Yes, sah.” 

Oh, Edith is it ? A pretty name, too,” he 
added, sotto voce. “And the father, — Edith’s 
father, — you know ?” 

The old darky looked his surprise. “ Fader, 
sah? Why, fader’s dead years ’gone, sah, 
and ” 

“Of course; I meant he was dead. — Con- 
found it, Charley, what’s the matter with you ? 
— What I meant, uncle, was the mother, — the 
lady that owns the place, buys the things, you 
know, and all that.” 

“Yes, sah; Miss Forsythe, sah.” 

“ Hang it ! she can’t be a ‘ miss.’ I don’t 
mean the one they call Helen. I mean Edith’s 
mother.” 

“ ’Zactly so, sah ; Miss Forsythe, sah.” 

“ Oh, exactly. Why don’t you say what you 
mean, then? And Mrs. Forsythe, she’s away, I 
believe ?” 

“ Yes, sah, gone to York to meet you, sah.” 

“ All right, uncle, that will do ; here’s a dollar 
163 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


for you.” And the old darky went away in 
open-eyed astonishment to report in the kitchen, 
“ I done b’lieve Mars’ Russell gone crazy ; done 
gone forgot his own fader’s dead !” 

“ Now, then,” said Russell, as we were again 
alone, ‘‘we’ve got a clear chart, and all we’ve 
got to do is to sail it.” 

As we reached the hall below, Edith was 
waiting for us, and led the way to the dining- 
room. She looked prettier than ever in the 
white dress she now had on, and a§ she went 
lightly on before us Russell whispered, “ I’m 
glad after all that she isn’t my sister.” I pressed 
him warningly on the arm, and the next mo- 
ment we were in the room. Helen was standing 
by the table and, as we entered an old gentle- 
man turned from the window and came towards 
us,— 

“ Ah, Russell, I am glad to see you again.” 

For an instant Russell looked as if he would 
bolt and fly for it, and I saw the perspiration 
gather on his forehead, but Edith came to his 
relief 

“Why, Russell, you look dazed. This is 
Uncle Robert, just home from Brazil ; don’t you 
remember?” And then, before he could find 
his voice, the old gentleman kindly patted him 
on the shoulder. 


164 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


“ No wonder, my boy, when I haven’t seen 
you since you were a baby.” And as Russell 
breathed again, he added, “And this is your 
friend Mr. ” 

“ Oh, yes, sir, — my friend Mr. Powers.” 

Uncle Robert took my hand and shook it 
warmly. “ I’m glad to see you, sir. — ‘ Powers’ ? 
that is not a German name, is it ?” And he turned 
to Russell. 

That individual looked at me as if he wanted 
to annihilate my personality then and there, and 
was muttering something unintelligible about 
“ Powers” and “ Bauer” being much the same, 
when the good angel, Edith, lifted us safely 
over this new pitfall by bidding us all sit down 
and discuss lunch first and language afterwards. 
We went on very well for a little while, though 
I did not like the look in Miss Helen’s eyes, — 
they seemed to be watching us ; and then a new 
danger opened under us. 

“ And how,” said the old gentleman, pouring 
out a glass of wine, “ how did you happen to 
come to Boston in the ‘ Scythia’ ?” 

“ To Boston, uncle ?” echoed Edith. — “ Why 
Russell, you ^aid you were coming to New York 
in the ‘ Aurania,’ and mother is there waiting 
for you.” 

Russell had recovered his spirits, and was 
165 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


expatiating on the lovely scenery about Boston, 
when this fresh blow came. I could not help 
smiling, though I got a vicious kick on the 
shins under the table, and I pretended to be ex- 
amining the color of the wine against the light 
as he replied, — 

Well — I — we — that is — the fact is I had to 
sail sooner than I thought, — and we thought we 
would be ” 

I know,” laughed Edith. “ You wanted to 
get here to surprise us all, and you got the sur- 
prise instead. Confess now that you were sur- 
prised.” 

“ I was,” said Russell, with the relief and em- 
phasis of getting one thing that he could swear 
to, — was never so surprised in my life.” And he 
looked at Edith with a glance that was full of 
much more than brotherhood would have war- 
ranted ; indeed, he had seldom taken his eyes 
away from her. She smiled back with eyes full 
of pleasure. 

I knew it ; I told Helen so, — didn’t I, Helen ?” 

“Yes,” briefly answered that young lady. 

“And, uncle, you will telegraph mother at 
once, won’t you ?” 

“ I have already sent a message into town, my 
dear. I see by the paper that the ‘ Aurania’ got 
into New York this morning.” 

1 66 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


Russell glanced quickly at me, and as well as 
eyes could speak I told him that the sooner we 
were out of this the better. 

But my own turn was coming next. Up to 
this time they had not heard my voice, but now 
Miss Helen turned to me and said pleasantly, 
** You and Russell are old friends, I believe?” 

** Oh, yes,” I said, glad it was something I 
could answer, and catching at it eagerly. “ We 
have known each other all our lives ” 

“ That is, you know,” broke in Russell 
quickly, smiling all around the table and giving 
me another kick in the shins, — that is, you 
know, while we were abroad. One gets to think 
a few years a long time over there, you know,” 
he said, appealing blandly to the interested faces 
watching his. 

“ Yes, no doubt,” was Helen’s answer. — “ And 
do you think you will like this country ?” And 
she turned to me again. 

“ Very much,” I said emphatically. I never 
saw a country to compare with it.” 

“ And yet you have only been here to-day !” 

she exclaimed, in surprise. You ” 

But you forget that this is Boston,” said 
Russell, rapidly breaking in again, and giving 
me a look that spoke volumes. Boston is 
America, just as Paris is France. You have 
167 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


been in Paris, sir?” he asked, turning to his 
newly-acquired uncle. And he employed all his 
wit and natural brightness in holding his audience 
in Paris until lunch was over and we had excused 
ourselves for returning again to our room. 

Once more safe behind a locked door, Russell 
threw himself on the bed and laughed till he 
cried. I thought I was gone,” he said, “ when 
the old gentleman came up, and that the darky 
had lied to me, and I had cold shivers all the 
rest of the time — with hot spells. Now, old 
fellow, we must get out of this ; but, Charley,” — 
and he sat upon the side of the bed, — “ I’d sooner 
lose a hand than hurt that little girl. I believe 
I’ve lost my heart to her already, — and I didn’t 
mean to deceive her, — I never would have 
thought of it, — for she is the dearest, sweetest 
little thing I ever saw.” 

“ Well,” I observed, grimly, “ you will prob- 
ably have cause to remember her, for her 
mother and brother will be here by to-night. As 
for me, I shall probably be lame for the next 
fortnight, and all for your ^ brilliant adventure’ !” 

“ I beg your pardon, old fellow : but we were 
on the brink of a precipice, and I hardly knew 
what I was doing. The one thing now is to get 
out of this scrape and save that dear little Edith’s 
feelings.” 


168 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


Down in the parlor, meanwhile, the talk of 
the morning had been renewed. 

“ I tell you, Edith Forsythe, there is some- 
thing wrong. No brother would act as this 
Russell does, nor look at you so, either, for that 
matter ; and that Carl, or Charley, or whoever 
he is, is no more a German that I am. Who 
ever heard of a German who had just arrived 
speak English so perfectly ?” 

But, Helen, dear, there can’t be a mistake. 
Germans learn to speak English in Germany ; 
and, besides, who ever heard of a man mistaking 
his own home ?” And she laughed triumphantly. 

How do you know he ever thought it was 
his home ?” 

“ Why, I heard him, dear ! I stole up behind 
them as they were standing before the house, 
and Russell was saying that this was a real 
home to rest in after his wanderings, and won- 
dering why the welcome he had told his friend 
about was not there to greet him, and he was 
looking for me, and wishing for the little mistress 
of the house to come tripping down, — and then 
I couldn’t wait, but just surprised him.” 

“Well, my dear, that does stagger me, cer- 
tainly ; and then, as you say, how did he come 
to be there at all, if he does not belong here ? 
But there is something very queer about it all.” 

169 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 

“The only queerness is in your own dear 
self,” cried Edith, jumping up and kissing her; 
“it’s all because this grand, big Russell does 
not want to run and play with you, as he used 
to do before he went away. But come now and 
we will take them a walk with us, and you can 
have him all to yourself.” 

So it came that while we were still discussing 
“ How to get out of it,” we were summoned by 
the appearance of the grizzled old darky at the 
door. He seemed to keep a wary eye on Rus- 
sell as he backed out into the hall and delivered 
his message. 

“ Miss Edith’s complimen’s, and would the 
gen’lmen like to take a walk ?” 

“No,” said Russell, hastily — “or — yes, say 
yes, we will be there in a minute.” 

The old darky, eying Russell more suspi- 
ciously than ever, withdrew, and the author of 
our misfortunes turned to me : “ We’re in for it, 
Charley ; but maybe we can slip off now through 
the woods. Never say die, anyway, and our luck 
will help us out of it. Come on.” 

We found the girls waiting for us at the door, 
and, though Edith’s intentions were plainly 
otherwise, I found myself walking with Helen, 
while Russell and Edith went off together. 

170 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 

The martyrdom which I endured on that walk 
will never be forgotten. I pride myself on being a 
particularly candid man, walking a straight road 
before me, but I’m afraid that a truth-seeker 
would have found some curious turnings if he 
had followed my trail that afternoon. Before 
an hour had passed I was certain I had contra- 
dicted myself a dozen times, and this certainty 
only added to my confusion at each question 
or suggestion of my companion. How long 
had I lived in Leipsic?” “the course of my 
study there ?’’ my “ remarkable proficiency in 
English,” and, especially, “what Russell had 
told me of his home and friends !” I wished 
I had never seen this precious “ Russell,” or 
that Leipsic was at the bottom of the sea, 
or that the earth might open and swallow us 
all together. Once or twice I came very near 
making a clean breast of it, but the thought 
of Russell, innocently trusting me and depend- 
ing on me not to betray him, held me back, and 
I wiped off the cold perspiration and went on 
with my tormentor. 

How far we went I never knew ; we had long 
lost sight of the couple before us, and when at 
last we turned and I breathed more freely at 
sight of the house once more, there were Edith 
and Russell on the steps laughing and chatting 
171 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


together, that arch-culprit as much at his ease; 
as if he had no dark burden on his conscience, 
and Edith’s eyes brighter than ever with fun as 
she hailed us. 

“ Why, what a lovely time you must have had 
to be away so long ! Russell and I have been 
back for nearly an hour.” 

“ Here’s a good place to rest,” he called out, 
as we came near. Come and sit down, Charley, 
and I know that Miss Helen will join you.” 

That young lady did not stop, however, but 
went in, saying to Edith in a meaning tone as 
she passed her, “ Edith, come in ; I want to see 
you.” 

But Edith laughingly refused, and the 
blinded Russell encouraged her, and I gnashed 
my teeth and scowled at him in vain, as I saw 
approaching ruin and our last chance of escape 
going from us. 

Three several times I made proposals to go 
in, accompanied by various masonic signs and 
contortions of facial muscles, which were meant 
to imply that we had an enemy within the house 
and were in immediate danger of discovery. But 
Russell was clearly infatuated with his new sister, 
and either would not or could not understand, 
and I was in constant dread that Uncle Robert 
would appear with Helen, or possibly with half 
172 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


a dozen men-servants, and we should in either 
case be in a fine predicament. 

But no one came. The old gentleman had 
probably gone out for a drive, or possibly Miss 
Helen, though suspecting the true state of 
affairs, was too uncertain of her ground to 
attempt a disclosure which might be turned in 
ridicule on herself and lead to a suspicion of her 
sanity. “ What if, after all” (she might have 
reasoned with herself), “it is just as they say?” 

At any rate we were left in peace (if my state 
of mind could be called anything short of the 
wildest disorder), and those two hapless beings 
sat there until a bell within-doors rang for 
dinner, and we got up from the steps to go in. 

I went in last, and I stopped at the door to 
look about me. The sun had gone down, and 
the woods around the house made it seem dark 
already. At least it would be easy to slip out 
of the house after dinner, and then, if I were ever 

caught again in a colonial mansion I left 

the rest unsaid and turned and went in-doors. 

Here was a new complication. Instead of 
going upstairs like a reasonable man, where we 
would have had a chance to put our heads to- 
gether (all the more necessary after my unfor- 
tunate walk that afternoon), Russell had gone 
direct to the dining-room, where the lamps were 

173 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


already lighted and the company waiting for me. 
There was no longer any use struggling with 
fate, and I went in. 

All the gods of mischief seemed to be in 
Russell Mitford that evening. He laughed, he 
told stories, he joked, he gave ridiculous experi- 
ences in foreign towns, until even Helen wiped 
tears of laughter from her eyes, and I was afraid 
the old gentleman would have a fit of apoplexy. 

Edith entered into the fun and helped it on 
by her own gayety, which seemed to keep pace 
with that of the wretched trifler sitting opposite ; 
and in the midst of a special burst of merriment 
and while I was pitying the revulsion that must 
come to her young heart, the house suddenly 
resounded with a violent ringing of the great 
brass knocker, and I jumped to my feet. 

I looked to the door; but the old gentleman 
had been sitting next it, and was now standing 
in the door-way, holding it partly open with his 
hand. I had thought for a moment of escape 
at all hazards ; but as I could get out only by 
knocking Uncle Robert over, I paused and 
glanced around me. 

Helen was still sitting at the table, grasping 
it with one hand and very pale. Edith was 
looking at Russell ; and Russell himself had 
risen from his chair and was standing coolly by 
174 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


one of the windows, with his eyes on the partly 
opened door. In less time than it takes to tell 
it all this had taken place : the hall-door had 
been opened by one of the servants, a bustle 
had followed, in the midst of which we heard 
a fine, manly voice, and my last hope died as 
a lady hurriedly embraced the old gentleman, 
who came first in the way, entered the room, 
and was followed instantly by a tall young man, 
whose face (as I could see even in that moment) 
bore no slight resemblance to Russell’s. But 
there could be no doubt now that the king had 
come to his own. Helen had half risen from 
the table with a smothered little cry, and Edith 
was already in the arms of the stranger. The 
most astonished person present was evidently 
Uncle Robert : the poor old gentleman looked 
first at one and then the other of his supposed 
nephews, and ended by making a rush at the 
old darky, who, with eyes wider than ever, was 
staring in at the door. 

The mother, a middle-aged, dignified lady, 
was by this time conscious of the presence of 
strangers, and looked to some one to explain ; 
and, as all turned as if by one consent towards 
Russell, he stepped forward, bowed, and said, 
gravely,— 

“ Madam, we are all alike the victims of an 

175 


A BRILLIANT ADVENTURE 


unintentional mistake. My friend Mr. Powers” 
— he bowed slightly again — ^^and myself had 
taken the liberty to enter your grounds and ad- 
mire your home, and, in short, we were mis- 
taken for expected guests, and by an unfortu- 
nate complication of circumstances were not at 
once able to explain. But I assure you, madam, 
that I am not here under false colors at present ; 
for I took the earliest possible moment to ex- 
plain our unfortunate blunder to your daughter 
this afternoon” (here he bowed to Miss Edith, 
who was standing half encircled by her brother’s 
arm), ” and she kindly consented to my remain- 
ing incognito until I could offer this explanation 
to yourself in person.” And he offered her his 
card. 

The unmitigated villain had allowed me to 
remain in mental torture for the last two hours ! 

I have only to add that if any one takes a 
further interest in what happened, he can call 
upon Russell and Edith Mitford at their resi- 
dence on Euclid Avenue, Cleveland, or on Rus- 
sell and Helen Forsythe at the mansion on the 
Cambridge road. 


The Mexican or the Tiger 

HE celebrated story of “ The Lady or the 



-L Tiger” has always had a special interest 
for me, because I knew a young man who had 
really been in a somewhat similar position, and 
I could understand how Mr. Stockton’s young 
man would feel when he stood before the doors. 
Only my case was a very much worse one, and 
it was all fact instead of fiction. 

It happened down in Mexico. 

I had gone there prospecting among the old 
abandoned gold- and silver-mines. Three hun- 
dred years ago or more the Spaniards had come 
to Mexico, and after they had killed all the 
natives who would fight them and had fright- 
ened all the rest into submission, they began to 
hunt for gold and silver. They found some 
mines which the natives had worked in their 
rude way and they opened new ones, and as 
they knew better how to work them and had 
better tools, they took out large quantities of 
the precious metals, forcing the poor natives to 
do all the hard work and to live as slaves with- 
out pay. 


THE MEXICAN OR THE TIGER? 


But there was a point beyond which the 
Spaniards could not go. When they had got 
down to a certain depth the water began to 
come in and to fill the mine, and they had no 
pumping machinery with which to get it out 
again. So they had to abandon them, one after 
another. And after a while they had to aban- 
don the country itself, as the people once more 
rose against them ; and the mines, big and little, 
some of them very deep and full of water, and 
some of them only half worked, were left behind 
them. 

They remained in that condition, neglected 
and forgotten, for many a long year : and then at 
last Americans began to think about them, and 
a few men who had ventured there came back 
and told what they had seen, and how it was 
possible to work them again in American fash- 
ion ; and rich men formed companies and bought 
old mines for next to nothing, and sent down 
engineers and miners and machinery ; and poor 
men, who knew something about mining, but 
did not have any money, went down there pros- 
pecting, in the hope of either striking a new 
mine or finding an old one which they could 
work in an easy way. And that is how I hap- 
pened to be in Mexico. 

There were four of us, and we had agreed to 
178 


THE MEXICAN OR THE TIGER ^ 


work together and to share whatever fortune 
we might find. Those of you who have read 
“Three Times in a Miner’s Life” will not be 
surprised to hear that we did not have much 
fortune to share, — at least of the money kind. 
Of the other sort of fortune we had plenty. We 
risked our lives in examining old mines, for one 
of us had to be let down by a rope each time to 
see whether it would pay to work it ; and some- 
times we were sick, and sometimes in danger 
from the natives, who were as jealous of us as 
if we were the old Spaniards come to life again. 
We had mostly hard knocks and very little to 
comfort ourselves with. And one day we found 
ourselves on the west coast, in a dense cane- 
brake, miles long and acres and acres wide, and 
with only a little dried beef for our breakfast. 

It was the last we had, and we didn’t know 
when we would get to the town of Morita, 
which we were making for, and it seemed as if 
the canebrake would never end. To under- 
stand the situation, you have to know that the 
canes grow thick and close together and are 
considerably higher than a man’s head. They 
are tough and strong and as densely crowded as 
the stalks in a wheat-field, and they would be 
altogether impassable, except that the Indians 
and wild animals have made narrow track- 
179 


THE MEXICAN OR THE TIGER? 


ways through them, just wide enough for men 
to go in single file ; and these track- ways often 
cross each other, so that a stranger cannot tell 
which path to take, and he has to decide as best 
he can and risk the consequences. It adds to 
the interest of the situation to know that the 
canebrake is the haunt of tigers, and that the 
wrong path may lead to a tiger’s lair. 

We had struck the canebrake the afternoon 
before and had followed one of the track-ways 
till night came on, and then we had cut out a 
space large enough to sleep in, and had watched, 
turn and turn about, until morning. The last 
turn of the watch fell to me, and the other fel- 
lows looked so dead tired out as they lay there 
on the ground that I let them sleep till it was 
broad daylight and time to push on. Then we 
got out our little stock of dried beef and chewed 
away on it, and talked about our chances of 
being killed by the Indians or starving to death 
before our journey would be ended. We knew, 
too, that there were roving bands of half-breeds 
about that part of the country, — a sort of roving 
Mexican brigand who would kill a man for the 
buttons on his coat, and who had a special 
hatred for foreigners. But we were too well 
armed to apprehend any trouble from that 
quarter. Our talk turned chiefly on more 
i8o 


THE MEXICAN OR THE TIGER? 


likely dangers, and it was not a very cheerful 
conversation. 

I took the hopeful view of it. ‘‘ I tell you 
what, boys,’" I said, “ we’re not in any danger 
from the Indians. Four men, back to back, 
with good Winchesters and no shots to fool 
away are a match for a hundred of them. The 
main thing is something to eat ; and if you fel- 
lows will stay here for half an hour I’ll slip back 
on the track we came by and see if I can knock 
over a bird or something for our dinner.” 

We hadn’t seen a sign of any sort of life the 
day before ; but as I was counted a lucky shot 
and it would only be the loss of half an hour’s 
time if I failed, they all agreed, and I took my 
rifle and started back to look for game. 

It was very still, dreadfully still and quiet. 
The wall of canes stood up thick and close on each 
side, and the air was hot and damp and heavy, and 
the narrow track-way sometimes turned off so 
sharp that I could see only a few yards ahead 
of me. Once in a while I would come to a 
cross-track ; but I had no fear of losing my 
way. It had rained hard a few days before and 
the ground was soft and water-soaked, and I 
could see our shoe-prints all the time before 
me. But not a sign of any game, not so much 
as a bird-note in the air or a bird-track on the 


THE MEXICAN OR THE TIGER? 

ground, and I was ready to give it up and go 
back to my companions. One more trial,” I 
said to myself, and then I’ll go back to them.” 

I was then standing at one of the cross-ways, 
and I determined to follow it a little way and see 
if better luck would come to me ; and before I 
had gone a dozen yards I heard the sudden 
flutter of a bird’s wing and saw a flash of bright 
scarlet disappear among the cane-tops. 

It was too sudden for me to get my gun 
to my shoulder; but I was certain of getting 
something now, and I went rapidly and noise- 
lessly onward. I expected every minute to get 
a sight of another bird, and I kept my eyes on 
the cane-tops and didn’t notice much where I 
was going ; and then all at once my eyes came 
down and I had another sort of a sight that I 
hadn’t counted on. 

Right in front of me an open space had been 
cut out, like the one I had helped to cut the 
night before, and five Mexican half-breeds, vil- 
lanous looking fellows, were half sitting and 
half lying on the ground. 

I had stopped short within ten feet of them, 
and they were as much taken by surprise as I 
was. But the next minute they had jumped to 
their feet and drew their ugly knives, and I knew 
I was in for it. 


THE MEXICAN OR THE TIGER? 


Now, if this were a made-up story, I suppose 
I should have shot them one after another and 
have gone back with all their provisions and in 
a blaze of glory ; but, being a plain man and face 
to face with five villains who meant murder, and 
certain that if I dropped one of them the other 
four would have their knives in me before I 

could pull the trigger a second time Well, 

I thought about a million years in the instant that 
I saw their knives flash out, and I turned to run 
for it. 

But even that one instant’s hesitation was too 
much. The Mexicans are quick as cats, and 
two of them had leaped on me, one seizing my 
rifle and twisting it out of my hands and the 
other taking me by the throat. I wrenched 
myself free from him and struck him with all 
my might between the eyes, and before the 
rest could close on me I was running for my 
life and expecting every moment to be shot 
down. 

The narrow track in which I ran was walled by 
the cane and I didn’t have half a chance ; but I 
ran like a deer for the turn which I saw ahead, and 
just as I sheered into it, “ Z-zip, crack !” But 
it missed me, and I only flew the faster. Every 
time the track turned I knew I had another 
chance for life, for it hid me for a minute or 

183 


THE MEXICAN OR THE TIGER? 

two, and then was my time to put out my best 
speed ; but as I made one of the turns I saw to 
my dismay that there was a long, straight stretch 
before me, and I felt that I was doomed. I 
raced along it like the wind for about a hundred 
yards, and then brought myself up with a sharp 
stop. Another track had crossed it at right 
angles! I didn’t know where it led to, but 
anything would be better than the long stretch 
ahead. I gave one quick glance back. The 
foremost villain, gun in hand, had just turned 
the corner and had covered me with my own 
Winchester. I knew the crack !” of it as he 
missed me again ; for before his finger touched 
the trigger I had darted down the side track and 
was flying on ! I was a good runner, and my 
only hope was to tire my pursuers out and make 
them give up the chase, for my footsteps were 
left in the soft ground, and there was no chance 
of escape by misleading them as to the way I 
had gone. I was thinking of this as I ran, and 
thinking, too, that the new path was a very nar- 
row and winding one, when my heart gave a 
jump and I came to a full stop again. 

There were other footprints there ! — broad, 
large, and fresh, — and going the same way that 
I was. I had seen marks like them often, and 
knew them at a glance. They were the unmis- 
184 


THE MEXICAN OR THE TIGER? 


takable footprints of a tiger, and he must be very 
close at hand ! 

Here was a “ circumstance.” I stood irreso- 
lute, and my hair seemed to rise up as if each 
particular hair had a life of its own. Whether 
to turn back to be shot to death by the villains 
coming up behind or to go to be torn to pieces 
by the savage brute in front ? The Mexican or 
the tiger ? 

I don’t pretend that I wasn’t scared. I was 
worse than scared, I was mentally paralyzed; 
and I stood there, helpless and bewildered, as 
if my feet had suddenly turned into lead and 
couldn’t move. 

The narrow track- way had taken a sharp curve 
just there, and I was standing on the bend of 
the curve and could see only a little way in 
front and behind me ; and before I could think 
of what to do, I heard a low, heavy growl just 
ahead, and I knew that the tiger was coming. 
There wasn’t a moment to lose, and, more by 
instinct than by thought, I flung myself on my 
face, resting my face on my arms. 

I will never forget the sensation of coming 
death and that awful waiting for the end. I 
heard the soft “ pat-pat” of his heavy paws, and 
though my eyes were closed and I scarcely 
seemed to breathe, I could see the great beast as 
185 


THE MEXICAN OR THE TIGER? 


he stopped close over me, and I felt his hot 
breath on my neck as he sniffed and purred and 
growled over his prize. Then a heavy paw 
came down on my shoulder and the sharp claws 
went through my hunting-shirt like knives. He 
was going to turn me over and find out what 
kind of thing I was. 

And then I knew that something had hap- 
pened ; for the claws let go of my shoulder and 
two heavy paws came down at once on my back, 
and there was a low, fierce growl, that rose into 
an angry roar, and was met halfway by a human 
cry of terror and the sharp crack of a rifle, and 
in the same moment the weight was gone from 
my shoulders, and I heard a rush through the 
air and the crash of a heavy fall, and as I sprang 
to my feet I saw that the foremost Mexican 
was down and the terrible tiger snarling over 
him. 

Run ? Why, I never ran in my life as I ran 
then. If there had been anybody there to time 
me, I would have broken all the records that 
were ever made. I never knew where I went 
or where I turned. Every thought of my brain 
and every nerve of my body were strung to the 
one blind purpose of getting away. I must 
have run a good mile before I slackened my 
pace, and even then I would stop and listen and 

i86 


THE MEXICAN OR THE TIGER? 


think that I could hear the tiger leaping after 
me. But nothing but my own footsteps broke 
the stillness as I hurried on, and I had gotten 
over caring for any game. I had had enough 
of hunting for one day, and had nothing but a 
lost rifle and a bleeding shoulder and scared 
wits to show for it. 

The next day at sundown, more dead than 
alive, for I hadn’t had a thing to eat, I joined 
my companions at a hacienda near Morita. 
They had waited for me in the canebrake for an 
hour or more, and then, supposing that I would 
follow and catch up with them, they had gone 
ahead. 

Two years afterwards, in a snug room, with 
my feet to the fire, I read Mr. Stockton’s story 
of The Lady or the Tiger ?” 

And when I had finished it I lay back in my 
chair and thought of a certain canebrake in old 
Mexico and of another young man who had 
found himself in a tighter place than the hero of 
the story. I hope that my unknown brother of 
fiction got out of his scrape as well. 


187 


The Mystery of Hampton 

T he village of Hampton was strangely- 
stirred in the good year 1693. 

Any one who knows it as it is now, in this 
year of our Lord 1893, would think it must 
have required something very unusual to dis- 
turb the quiet of that ancient town. 

It lies at the eastern end of Long Island, on 
the Atlantic shore, and about a mile back from 
the sea. Its one long street is lined on both sides 
by great tall elms and by gray, moss-covered, 
shingled houses, with an old, weather-beaten 
windmill at either end of the street, and a grave- 
yard, with rudely shaped gravestones sinking 
out of sight among the long grass, in front of 
each windmill. No railway has yet broken in 
upon its steady, old-fashioned ways. In its 
grassy lanes and hedges, its quaint little-win- 
dowed homes, its people of unmixed Puritan 
blood, and even in the tooting of the stage- 
coach horn as the ancient vehicle comes down 
the village street, it belongs to the past ; and the 
noisy forces of the present are held off from it, 
as its sand dunes by the shore keep off the sea. 
188 



I 





( 



• ♦ 


4 * 


* 


t 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


The cows go slowly down the street to pasture 
every morning and come back slowly every 
night; the geese waddle lazily to the goose-pond 
by the upper graveyard, and even the sails of the 
old windmills turn sleepily round and round, 
and it is as quiet every day as if the houses, 
too, were gray, wooden gravestones, inscribed 
in moss upon their shingled sides : 

“BORN OF PURITAN SETTLERS, 1 639. 

“ A town * to fortune and to fame unknown !’ ” 

And yet it has memories. 

In that house with the long roof on one side 
sloping almost to the ground, John Howard 
Payne spent his boyhood ; and no doubt it was 
to this little village by the sea that his thoughts 
had gone back, when out of his troubled life he 
one day wrote his immortal Home, Sweet 
Home!” In the old academy, built of yellow 
bricks brought over from Holland, his father 
had taught school. In the old church, with its 
straight, high-backed pews and old-fashioned 
pulpit. Dr. Lyman Beecher began his ministry. 
And wasn’t it from the old house on the little hill 
at the end of the village street that Dame Hedges 
had flung the pudding at the British soldiers in 
old Revolutionary days and so had christened 
it to all generations as “ Pudding Hill” ? 

189 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 

The old gray houses could tell more than 
one such tale ; and the cedar chests in the old 
garrets under the pointed roofs could bring out 
quaint bridal dresses and veils and high-heeled 
slippers, once gayly worn by those whose names 
have almost faded from the rough-cut stones in 
the old graveyards. But nobody thinks much 
about these things. They are accepted as sim- 
ple facts and left to take care of themselves : of 
no more interest to these quiet people in the 
year 1893 than the old notice which was once 
posted on the little town hall in 1649 : 

“Ye man which shall first give cry of a whale off shore, 
shall be paid the sum of One Shilling lawful coin of ye 
realme. 

“By order of ye Town meetinge.” 

Even in those old days the village was as 
quiet as it is now. In the spring of 1693 the 
men tilled their farms and the women sat at 
spinning-wheels and spun ; and the cows went 
down the street to pasture, and the geese wad- 
dled to the pond, and the houses were beginning 
to grow gray, in keeping with the slow and 
uneventful life around them. 

But in that year something had happened ! 

Bill Stokes said he had seen it. 

‘‘ I did,” said Bill ; “ I seen it with these 
190 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


eyes ! There wasn’t no moon ; but the night 
was clear an’ the stars were shinin’, an’ I reckon 
I ain’t blind ! I was cornin’ up from Jericho, an’ 
was walkin’ along, thinkin’ of nothin’.” 

“ You usually is thinkin’ of nothin’, ain’t you. 
Bill?” interrupted one of his listeners, with a 
wink to the others. But the laugh that fol- 
lowed was faint and uneasy, and one of the men 
replied, — 

Never you mind, Ned Brown. Let Bill tell 
his story.” 

It was the regular custom at Hampton for a 
certain number of the men to assemble at the 
one store of the village every evening; and 
there, sitting on boxes and on the counter, or 
lounging about in the easiest position they 
could find, to smoke their pipes and to talk 
over such small events and village gossip as 
came uppermost, or to calculate” on what 
news of the outside world the next weekly 
stage-coach might bring. 

The usual group had gathered on this even- 
ing, and the one lard-oil lamp which hung from 
the ceiling threw into half light and half shadow 
the eager looks and expectant attitudes of the 
men, and showed that a subject of uncommon 
interest had come before them. Bill Stokes was 
standing in the middle of the floor, and, after 
191 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


the momentary interruption had ceased, con- 
tinued his story. 

“ I was walkin’ along, as I says, an’ when I 
come to the graveyard, betwixt it and the mill, 
I thought as how I heard somethin’ breathin’ 
hard. I was whistlin’ to myself, easy like, an’ I 
stopped an’ listened. The breathin’ kept on, in 
sorts of puffs an’ snorts like, an’ then it stopped 
an’ there was a growlin’ kind of sound. I 
could see the head-stones an’ the grass ; an’ I 
jes’ thought to myself, ‘ Somebody’s critter has 
strayed loose an’ got in there,’ an’ I went across 
the road an’ looked over the fence. An’, as I’m 
livin’, a thing that looked like a man all in 
black, with a red cap on his head an’ a black 
beard all over his face, rose up among the 
graves ! An’ at that minute somethin’ white 
came at me over the fence, an’ took me in the 
breast an’ knocked me over on my back, — an’ I 
don’t remember nothin’ more till I was standin’ 
in my own house, wet with sweat an’ tremblin’ 
all over !” 

There was a circle of awed faces around him 
in the dimly-lighted store as he ended, and even 
Ned Brown’s voice had none of its usual joking 
flavor as he asked, ‘'Are you sure you didn’t 
have a drop too much down at Jericho, Bill ?” 

“ Not a drop, much or little !” Bill answered. 

192 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


“ I was as sober as a judge, an’ there ain’t no 
mistake in what I tell you. I seen it, an’, what’s 
more, I felt it. A mule’s hind leg wouldn’t 
have knocked the wind out o’ me more com- 
pletely.” 

The evidence was too exact and circumstan- 
tial to be denied. And in the pause which fol- 
lowed every one visibly started when a man 
merely knocked the ashes out of his pipe 
against the box on which he was sitting, nor 
did it reassure them when he half whispered to 
the man nearest him that he had known them 
as had seen spirits walk, an’ somethin’ always 
happened afterwards. There wasn’t no good in 
it, nohow !” 

There’s them three drownded sailors that 
come ashore from the wreck ten year ago,” 
said Dan Silvus, a fisherman ; “ but I reckon 
them poor chaps is lyin’ quiet enough ?” His 
remark was put half questioningly, and Bill 
replied, — 

** It wasn’t none o’ them. I mind seein’ them 
when they was washed ashore, an’ they was 
little men an’ had blue shirts an’ duck trousers 
on. What I seen was big an’ black, an’ his 
eyes was bright an’ glarin’, but I didn’t more’n 
see him, when I was knocked flat an’ didn’t wait 
for no more.” 


13 


193 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


“What time o’ night was it?” asked Ned 
Brown. 

“’Bout eleven o’clock, or mebbe later, I’d 
been down at Jericho, keepin’ company with 
widder Hunter, an’ it must have been nigh onto 
midnight when I was cornin’ home.” 

The men exchanged glances and nodded to 
each other ; midnight was the time for ghosts 
and witches to be abroad ! 

“ I’m not sayin’,” resumed Bill, “ that if I’d 
been thinkin’ of dead folks I mightn’t have mis- 
took a shadder or a bay-berry bush for some- 
thin’ livin’ or dead, but I wasn’t thinkin’ of 
nothin’, an’ it come on me unexpected, — let 
alone havin’ a sore breast to keep me from for- 
gettin’ it. Blamed if I ain’t been expectin’ to see 
it again all evenin’ !” He glanced uneasily as 
he spoke into the dark corners of the store, and 
more than one pair of eyes looked furtively over 
shoulders that were conscious of a cold shiver 
creeping down the spine. 

“ I never heerd tell,” said a man sitting back 
in the shadow, “ of a black ghost afore.” 

“ No more did I,” said Dan Silvus. “ They 
come mostly in white, ’cordin’ to all accounts I 
ever heerd; though if one o’ them drownded 
sailors ’d come in the rig he was buried in, we 
couldn’t blame him, — seein’ they didn’t have no 

194 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


shrouds. But this here one o’ Bill’s beats me.” 
And most of those present agreed that it was 
contrary to all recorded ghostly appearances. 

*‘A11 in black, an’ with a red cap on his 
head ?” repeated one who had not yet spoken. 
“ Mebbe it was the devil ?” 

“ What would the devil be doin’ in a Christian 
graveyard?” was the answering problem of a 
man sitting on a soap-box on the floor with his 
elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his 
hands. And this last uncanny question seemed 
to open so many dreadful possibilities that, with- 
out discussing it any further, the group broke up 
and the men went to their several homes to 
spread the tale. 

By the next day it was the talk of the whole 
village. The men had no other subject as they 
met each other on the street or on their way to 
their farms. The women repeated it to each 
other across the fences of the backyards, or in- 
vented errands in order to discuss it with their 
neighbors ; the children retold it on their way 
to the village school ; even the stage-coach, 
coming down the long street with the driver 
blowing his tin horn, did not arouse a passing 
interest in its usually exciting arrival. There 
was nothing to be thought of but Bill Stokes’s 
ghost.” 


195 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 

The story was partly believed, partly doubted. 
Those who doubted were in the majority when 
the graveyard lay there in the light of day, as 
quiet and peaceful as it had been any time in 
the last sixty years. The plain, gray head- 
stones, Sacred to the Memory” of the “ Susan- 
nahs” and “ Priscillas” and “ Samuels” and 
Hezekiahs” who had worshipped in the old 
meeting-house under the elms and had gone to 
their rest, seemed to protest against even the 
thought of any diabolical intrusion, and the 
grave of the first minister of this old-time Puri- 
tan colony, who had been buried at one end of 
the graveyard, with his head to the west, so as 
to face his flock at the resurrection-day and to 
see that no one was missing, was like a grim 
sentinel to keep the peace of this hallowed 
ground. But when evening had come, and the 
shadows fell, and the low thunder of the surf 
upon the shore came fitfully on the wind, the 
believers increased in number. There were 
unnamed possibilities among the sleeping places 
of the dead folk in the still, dark hours, and 
neither believers nor doubters ventured to pass 
that graveyard after night had come, but left it 
to the care of the windmill, which stretched its 
gaunt, naked arms to the sky. 

There was one exception. Dorothy Law- 
196 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


rence, the miller’s daughter, was not even a 
doubter, — she was a total disbeliever in the 
tale. 

do think,” said one gossip to another, 
recounting a visit paid to the miller’s house on 
the all-absorbing topic, “that if you was to 
shove a ghost into her face, she’d look at you 
in that stony way of hers and not feel her heart 
beat any faster.” 

“ Dorothy Lawrence’s heart !” rejoined the 
other scornfully. “ You mean the bit of her 
father’s millstone she carries in place of it ! She 
never had no heart. Ask Ned Brown and 
Abner Milford what they think of her ? That 
woman is stone clear through.” 

As she sat that day in her little room with its 
eyelet of a window under the sloping roof of the 
little house close by the mill, she did not look 
like stone, but warm flesh and blood. Dorothy 
Lawrence was twenty-eight years old, and ten 
years before there was not a fairer girl between 
East River and Montauk Point than the miller’s 
daughter. Even then, when she had only turned 
her eighteenth year, her Puritan ancestry had 
given a sober quietness to her face, a sedateness 
to her step, and a simple, truthful directness to 
her speech, which made one think her at first to 
be older than she was, but which only added a 
197 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


quaintness to the fresh young figure which went 
down the village street or sat in the old church 
with pure, wide-open eyes that seemed to be 
drinking in the long sermon to its final word. • 
The young men who took their places in the 
back seats of the church, and who hung awk- 
wardly about the door or on the steps outside 
when the service was over, had regularly more 
than one challenge or wager among themselves 
in those days as to which of them should see 
Mistress Lawrence home. But, as she would 
come down the aisle with her sweet, pure face 
and dainty step, and the distant adoration of her 
admirers changed into the possibility of actual 
touch and speech, their hearts as regularly 
failed them, and time after time they had it 
only to jibe each other for allowing ‘‘ that Dick 
Roberts” to coolly step in and carry off the 
prize. And the older people whispered and 
shook their heads in grave disapproval at sight 
of the same thing, and wondered that Miller 
Lawrence, who was reputed a careful and godly 
man, should allow his fair young daughter to 
bestow her favor on such a ne’er-do-well world- 
ling. For it was not only after church on a 
Sabbath evening, but in many a walk along the 
street, and often in the miller’s home, that Dick 
Roberts was at her side. 

198 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


He was a year older than herself, a tall and 
handsome lad, who might have passed for over 
twenty years, the only son of the sternest dea- 
con of the Hampton church and firmest up- 
holder of the faith and ways of the Fathers. 
The iron face and frame of the deacon might 
have marched in the ranks of the old Round- 
heads of Cromwell, and he saw with fear and 
set the straight lines of his mouth the harder 
against the follies and vanities which were 
creeping into the once godly settlement. And 
the one great trial of his life was this son, Dick, 
whom he had wrought with in private and 
prayed over in public, until almost the entire 
community had come to look askance upon the 
lad as being in some vague way under the power 
of the Evil One. 

It puzzled Dick himself to know why. He 
was frank and fearless by nature. He had stood 
easily at the head of the village academy, win- 
ning prizes in everything with an ease that sur- 
prised himself, and invariably giving them away 
with careless good nature to others who had 
worked harder to secure them. But, unfortu- 
nately for him, his quick apprehension and 
original ways of thinking upon all subjects 
were not looked upon with favor by the con- 
servative, slow-moving minds around him, and 
199 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


his outspoken and often derisive criticism of 
doctrines held to be fundamental, and his ap- 
parently defiant way of breaking through cus- 
toms and traditions which had been hammered 
in with every nail of every shingle in the little 
town, only increased the condemnation which 
he was already under as one who had fallen 
from grace and belonged to the children of this 
world. 

Unfortunately for him, too, he had a quick 
sense of the ludicrous, which not even the 
solemn surroundings of a church meeting could 
subdue, and which had led him more than once 
into what was grievously regarded as unseemly 
levity. At one such meeting he had smiled at a 
pointed and public allusion to himself as “ one 
who goeth even unto strange towns and min- 
gleth in the dances of the ungodly!” And 
when the speaker at once wrathfully and unmis- 
takably indicated the culprit with his finger, the 
young man rose up and took his hat and strode 
out with such a look of scorn upon his face that 
it removed the last doubt as to his condition as 
a hardened sinner. 

I won’t stand it, Dorothy,” he said, hotly, 
as they stood together near the mill on the fol- 
lowing evening. “ I’ve held my head up and 
made believe that it was all fun to me and that 


200 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


I didn’t care. But for a whole year my heart 
has burned inside me like a fire, and I’d have 
knocked the heads of the fools together before 

now if— if it hadn’t been for ” There was 

the trembling of angry tears in his voice, and 
the girl put her hand upon his arm. 

Come, Dick. Let us go and sit a little 
while in the old place. I want to talk to you.” 

He went with her willingly, and they sat 
down together on the steps of the stile which 
formed the primitive entrance to the graveyard, 
he on the step below and looking up at her. 
There was a pleading wistfulness in the eyes 
which looked down on his in turn. 

“ Oh, Dick, why will you do these things ?” 

“ Never mind that now, Dorothy. I don’t 
care for anything when I can look into your 
eyes.” 

“ But you shouldn’t say that, and I must mind 
it, Dick. Why do you set people against you 
so, and such good people ?” 

“ Good people !” he answered, with angry 
scorn rising again into his face, which he low- 
ered from her steady gaze. ” They are a hard, 
unfeeling lot of heartless fanatics, and their re- 
ligion is as narrow as themselves.” 

” They are good and honest-meaning people,” 
the girl answered, calmly ; “ and their religion 
201 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


is what they have received from their fathers. 
Then you did go to the dance at Sag Harbor ?” 

*‘Go? Of course I did. I’d go again to- 
morrow. There’s no more harm in it than 
skating on the pond in winter.” 

But if our people think it sinful, Dick ?” 

“ Oh, I can’t stop to ask them every time I 
eat and drink,” he answered, impatiently. It 
has been just the same always. They sent me 
away from Sabbath-school because I asked 
questions and wanted to understand things for 
myself, and now, because I don’t believe as they 
do, and choose instead to think and act in my 
own way, they treat me as if I were possessed 
of the devil. I sometimes wonder,” he added, 
bitterly, when you will turn against me, too.” 

“ I will never turn against you, Dick,” she 
said, gently, as his eyes again looked up into 
hers. “ We have been friends too long for that 
ever to be.” 

Friends ?” he echoed. Is it never to be 
anything but ^ friends’ ? Dorothy, you must let 
me speak of it again. I’ve loved you ever since 
I was old enough to know what love means; 
it’s only my love for you that has kept me in 
this place, and I love you better every day. 
Why won’t you tell me that you love me? 
Tell me now, Dorothy ; tell me that you will 
202 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


marry me some day !” And his handsome, 
boyish face was lighted up with the love-light 
in his eyes. 

She looked down at him, and there was a 
meaning in that look and in the sudden quick- 
ening of her breath, which he was blind not to 
have seen, but he only saw the steady gaze he 
knew so well, and heard the quiet, steady tones, — 

“You know that cannot be. You know I 
promised father that I would never let you say 
a word that would make us anything but friends 
until he gave me leave. Let us be friends always, 
Dick.” 

“ No,” he answered. “ I’m not a boy any 
longer, and I have a right to know.” He got 
up as he spoke and stood before her, and the 
proud and masterful spirit of the young fellow 
showed itself in every line. “Tell me this, 
then. If you were free and could do as you 
willed, would you say Yes? Would you marry 
me then ?” 

Was it herself or was it a century of Puritan 
blood and training which answered him ? The 
voice was low, but it was clear and steady. 

“ I would say No. I do not think I could 
marry any one I was not sure of, — any one who 
did not love the only religion and the only way 
of life I’ve ever known. You must not ask me. 

203 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


Oh, Dick,” and her voice broke down a little, 
“let us still be friends; we can be friends 
always.” 

He looked at her gloomily. Then he put 
out his hand to help her off the stile. “ I see,” 
he said, as if talking to himself, “ it won’t be 
long till you are like the rest of them. Let us 
go home.” 

She took his hand without a word, and they 
went back to the house together, and he left her 
at the door. 

On the next Sabbath evening Dick was not at 
church. She knew that for the last two years 
his regular presence in his father’s pew was due 
entirely to something far remote from the teach- 
ing which he heard there, but this evening his 
place was empty. So that she was surprised 
when he met her at the door and claimed her, 
and in the unexpected pleasure which it gave 
her, she drew her arm more closely into his. 

But Dick was strangely silent and unrespon- 
sive, and her faint attempts at drawing him into 
his usual gay and careless vein met with such 
brief answers that she soon ceased, and they 
walked on in silence. Others passed them, or 
walked behind or before them, and Dorothy 
knew that they would have their say about the 
companying of these two, and she did not care. 

204 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 

The stragglers thinned and dropped off by- 
twos and threes as they reached their differ- 
ent homes, and now there was no other house 
between them and the mill, — and they were 
alone together. As they reached the mill, Dick 
stopped and drew his arm from hers and stood 
confronting her. 

It’s the last time, Dorothy. I needn’t tell 
you what I’ve often told you before, but I must 
have an answer to-night. Will you promise to 
marry me some time ?” 

The sky was overcast with clouds, and the 
only light was from the miller’s window, and it 
streamed out faintly on the grass where they 
stood. She turned her head and looked at it, 
and her voice was very low as she replied, — 

Don’t, Dick ; please don’t. It only hurts 
us both ; and you know I have given my 
promise.” 

I don’t care about that,” he answered, and 
his voice was hard and dry. “ I must have your 
promise to me. And I must have it now or you 
will never see me again.” 

You are going away?” she asked, sur- 
prised. 

“ Never mind,” he answered. What I want 
is to know that you will marry me now or 
never.” 

205 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


“ I cannot, — you know I cannot tell you that ; 
I ought not to let you ask me.” 

“ Tell me,” he insisted ; and he took both her 
hands in his. 

She did not resist, but she stood straight and 
firm before him. “ I— cannot !” 

He held her for a long minute without speak- 
ing. Then he dropped her hands and turned 
and went away. 

That was ten years ago. It seemed to Doro- 
thy Lawrence as she sat at the little window on 
this summer afternoon as if it had been ten cen- 
turies. She could hear the creaking of the great 
arms of the windmill as the tightly-stretched sails 
carried them ceaselessly round and round ; she 
could see the graveyard across the road with its 
silent memories of the dead, and the stile which 
her feet had never pressed since an evening long 
ago; she could see, far off, the sand-dunes at 
the shore, and every now and then the tumbling 
thunder of some heavier wave was carried to her 
on the wind. And she saw and heard. But, in 
her fixed gaze and motionless attitude, she 
seemed to see and hear them as if they were the 
phantasms of a dream. 

One hand was on her lap, and the fingers were 
half closed upon a single sheet of letter-paper 
which lay open with some verses written over it. 

206 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


He had put it into her hand one evening as they 
parted at her father’s door, and she remembered 
the half jest and half bitterness with which he 
had told her to keep it : “ You won’t understand 
it, Dorothy ; you’re too high above such things. 
But don’t show it to any one else ; I’m low down 
enough in their good graces already.” She did 
not need to read it over now. She knew the 
simple verses, she knew every turn of every let- 
ter of the words which kept coming and going 
as she sat there with the paper in her hand. 

“ Summer days by Hampton’s sea, — 

Youth and laughter, gay and free : 

Storm and winter on the sands. 

Breaking hearts and parted hands. 

Read my riddle, maid, to me. 

** Glimpse of sea through broken dune, 
Foam-crests touched by Harvest moon ; 
Signal-gun across the wave — 

Toll of bell by open grave ; 

Here and there, by land and sea. 

Read my riddle, maid, to me. 

“ Arms of windmill ’gainst the sky, — 

Love and Youth go strolling by : 

Trees that shiver in the blast 
Of the snow-wind sweeping past : 

Snows and flowers together lie.” 


And she heard him say again in the old half- 

207 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


bitter and half-jesting tone, You won’t under- 
stand it, Dorothy !” 

On the third evening following that on which 
Bill Stokes had told his mysterious adventure, 
the regular loungers at the store had been rein- 
forced by several additions to their number, and 
the talk had turned to the inevitable subject. 

An old, white-haired man, Elijah Musgrave 
by name, was speaking. 

Ye may well say that Deacon Roberts be- 
lieved in them. He did. I’ve heerd him say it 
wasn’t against Scriptur’, for there was the witch 
of Endor to prove it. An’ when his son, Dick, 
says, ‘ Father, I don’t believe it ; I believe that 
like as not the old witch lied when she said that 
she saw Samuel’s ghost, and you’ve only got the 
witch’s word for it!’ Well, well; mebbe the 
deacon was too hard on the boy, an’ tryin’ to 
convert youngsters with a stick ain’t exactly the 
means o’ grace which the Scriptur’ tells of.” 

” Dick never came back after he ran away, 
did he ?” asked one of the younger members of 
the party. 

‘^No,” replied the old man; ‘^he never came 
back, an’ the deacon died without seein’ him.” 

“Joined Captain Kidd’s men,” said Ned 
Brown, briefly. 

“J’ned Cap’n Kidd,” repeated Elijah. “I 
208 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


seen the letter, — the deacon showed it to me. 
‘ Father,’ it says, ‘ I’ve gone to sea — along with 
Cap’n Kidd,’ it says — ‘ an’ I don’t think you’ll 
miss me, for I was never any good to you.’ 
An’ the old deacon was all broke up by it, an’, 
as the sayin’ is, went sorrowin’ to his grave.” 

“ Dick was a wild chap,” said one. “ I 
knowed him, an’ he was that reckless that he 
was ready for anything.” 

** Reckless he was,” answered Elijah ; “ but 
he had a tender spot in him, too, only he always 
flared sort of away from it. I mind me one day 
how he said, sittin’ by the mill foreninst the 
graveyard, * If ever I’m buried,’ he says, ^ I 
want to be buried in there : I couldn’t lie peace- 
ful,’ he says, * unless I’d be with the folks I’ve 
known, an’ have the old windmill near me.* 
Dick was a queer chap ; an’ I misdoubt if we 
rightly understood the boy.” 

** Talkin’ of Kidd,” said a bushy-whiskered 
man sitting on the counter ; “ I was over at 
Sagg this morning, and I heard as how his 
schooner has been off and on Gardiner’s Island 
for a week or more.” 

“Buryin’ treasure, I reckon,” said another; 
” they say he sinks his money-chests somewhere 
in the sand along the point of the island. It’ll 
be fine huntin’ for ’em one of these days.” 

209 


14 


THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


“ The cap’n stands in with the folks on Gar- 
diner’s,” said the bushy- whiskered man. “ Least- 
ways, I’ve seen them as says they’ve seen the 
rich silks and stuffs that he trades for provisions 
and things for his men.” 

‘ Trades’ ?” echoed another. “ It’s apt to be 
easy tradin’, when you’re offered a bit of silk 
with one hand an’ a bullet with the other. I cal- 
culate I’d trade quick on them terms !” And 
he looked around at the rest, who nodded 
approvingly. 

“ But he needn’t give them nothing, unless he 
has a mind to,” said Dan Silvus ; “ an’ I reckon 
it shows somethin’ good about the cap’n, after 
all. They say that even the devil isn’t as black 
as he’s painted.” 

The talk kept drifting off in this way to other 
things, — to boats and nets and wrecks and fish- 
ing, — and it had such a cheering effect that, 
when the time for going had arrived, and the 
party broke up for their homes, the mysterious 
midnight apparition had faded for the moment 
from their minds. 

But the next day, and for many a day after, 
they and many others talked wonderingly and 
sadly of what had happened on the night that 
Bill Stokes had seen the ghost. 

There was to be a burial in that graveyard in 
210 


THE OLD GRAVEYARD, EAST HAMPTON, L. 


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THE MYSTERY OF HAMPTON 


the afternoon, and all the villagers who could 
be at home were there in attendance. The sim- 
ple rites were soon ended, and some had already 
left the place, when they were called back by 
the exclamations of a few who had gone wan- 
dering among the graves and by the sight of 
others running to the spot. 

Within a few feet of the fence was a new-made 
grave, with the earth still fresh upon it ; and in 
the centre of tl^e mound was a piece of paper, 
with some characters scrawled upon it in pencil, 
and fastened by a sailor’s knife, which had been 
stuck through it into the earth. 

As calmly as if she were lifting a withered 
leaf from the ground, the woman whose heart 
was “ like a millstone” took up the paper and 
read it, and then Dorothy Lawrence fell sense- 
less beside the grave. 

This is what was written : 

*‘We don’t know his right name, but he wanted to be 
buried here, nigh the windmill. If we haven’t done as he 
wanted, it’s because it had to be done at night, and it’s the best 
we know how.” 

There was no name signed to the paper. 


2II 


Cap’n Jobnsin, of Bermuda 


“^AP’N JOHNSIN, yes, sah; jes’ call me 
dat, — Cap’n Johnsin.” 

He was standing at the bottom of the narrow 
stone steps which led from the wharf down to 
the water. A battered straw hat, with a freshly- 
plucked rose and two chicken feathers stuck in 
a hole in the side of it, was on his close-cropped 
woolly head ; a bright-red, sleeveless jersey was 
belted at his waist with an old suspender, and 
his patched canvas trousers were turned up 
above his bare black feet, over which the green 
water of the rising tide was plashing. 

A little sloop yacht, decked forward of the 
mast, was moored to a stone post close by, and 
we were standing on the steps higher up, and 
had just concluded a bargain for a day’s sail. 

We had arrived at the islands a week before, 
Nellie and I. Her health had failed, and she 
had been compelled to give up her work. As 
the winter came on she grew worse, and the 
doctors had said at last that she must leave 
New York. They recommended Bermuda; so 
212 


CAP^N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 

we had come to the islands, — Nellie, her mother, 
and I, — and with the change and the warm air 
and the loveliness all about us, at the end of the 
first week she had been able to go out for a little 
walk. 

We were strolling along the wharf on the 
lookout for a boat, when this singular boatman 
accosted us, — 

Nice day fo’ a sail, sah ; jes’ de right wind, 
an’ de boat all ready.” 

“ Is that your own boat ?” 

Oh, no, sah ; dis is a hired boat, but I sail 
her. It’s all right, sah ; I’se sailed dese waters, 
man an’ boy, for years. An’ de boat can go, 
sah; jes’ shake out de canvas an’ get all her 
clothes on, an’ dere ain’t no boat round here 
can take no wind outer her sails !” 

I am an artist by profession, and accustomed 
to seeing queer models, but a more strikingly 
unconventional figure I had never seen. From 
the torn straw hat, so oddly set off by the rose 
and feathers, and from the bare black arms and 
the red woollen jersey down to the black feet that 
kept moving in the waves which were plashing 
over the step on which he stood, he was cer- 
tainly one of the oddest beings I had ever come 
across. 

And what is your name ?” 

213 


CAP^N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 

“ De ‘ Mermaid,’ sah. I don’t know rightly 
what it means, sah, but some gen’l’men dey tells 
me it’s a kind o’ sea sarpint. She do go like all 
snakes sometimes !” 

He chuckled merrily at his joke. 

“ But I meant your own name,” f said. What 
name do you go by ?” 

He drew himself up with a certain dignity. 

“Oh, I took yo’ meanin’ fo’ de boat, sah. 
Cap’n Johnsin, yes, sah ; jes’ call me dat, — Cap’n 
Johnsin.” 

He bore about as much resemblance to a 
regulation “captain” as he did to a mermaid, 
and his appearance was so comically at variance 
with his air of dignity and the emphasis he put 
on “ cap’n” that Nellie broke into a merry 
laugh. 

“ Dat’s right,” said the captain. “ I likes to 
see de young lady happy. Heaps o’ trouble in 
dis world, an’ we need all de smiles we got. 
Reck’n you’ll go, sah ?” 

I think that last remark decided me. “Yes, 
captain, we’ll go,” I said, and turned to the girl 
at my side. “ Come on, Nellie ; I think the 
‘ Mermaid’ will do.” 

As I took my seat with Nellie in the stern 
of the boat, the captain ran up the jib and made 
it fast, and was back at the tiller and letting 
214 


CAP^N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 


the main-sail out with a run. It was done so 
quickly that I was hardly seated before the yacht 
was lying over before the wind, and “ Cap’n 
Johnsin” sitting as quietly as if he had been 
there a week, and chuckling to himself 

Here at last were the Bermudas ! Low islands 
covered with cedar, and with their coral bases 
cut into grotesque carvings and hollow's and 
mimic caves by the play of the water ; now so 
near one another that a pebble might be tossed 
from one to the other, and now scattered apart 
over the waters and dotting a beautiful bay; 
here only a gray, weather-beaten rock just lifted 
above the waves, and now one large enough to 
hold a solitary tree; and now the snow-white 
roof of a house and a glimpse of its cream- 
colored coral walls through the cedars and 
palmettos. 

Beneath, as you sail through ever-opening 
vistas of new beauty, is the wonderful, chang- 
ing-hued malachite green of the water above its 
white coral bed, and you lean over the boat and 
see the branches of coral twenty and thirty feet 
below. Presently the sunlight strikes through 
it and sends a rose-light to the heart of the 
liquid malachite sea. 

We were in the little open bay formed by 
Hamilton Island on one side and Ireland Island, 
215 


CAP^N JOHN SIN, OF BERMUDA 


curving around almost to meet it, on the other. 
The wind was a trifle stronger, coming in from 
the open sea, but the air was soft and warm, and 
there was not a cloud in the clear blue sky. 
The light-house on Gibb’s hill stood out above 
the dark green of the cedars like a great pillar 
carved in snow. 

Nellie was sitting to leeward, with one hand 
playing in the water, which the lay-over of the 
boat brought near enough to touch, and it was 
good to see the color coming back to her cheek 
and the brightness to her eyes. 

Captain Johnson produced a large conch shell 
from the cuddy, and putting his lips to the 
smaller end, in which a hole had been roughly 
drilled, sent out a deep, mellow, booming note 
over the waters, — for no other reason apparently 
than to make sure that the shell still retained its 
vocal power. 

He was plainly satisfied with the result. 

De angel Gabr’l glad to have horn good’s 
dat!” he remarked, softly, as he put it back 
under the seat. Then he began to sing, — 

To die no mo’, 

To die no mo’, 

I’se goin’ home to die no mo’.” 

He was leaning back and crooning the words 
216 


CAP^N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 

over to himself, and I joined in on the last line 
of the refrain. 

He looked at me curiously. You ain’t a 
’ligious man, sah ?” 

‘‘Well,” I replied, taken somewhat aback, 
“I don’t profess to be especially religious, 
but ” 

“ I knowed it, sah, ho ! ho !” and he put down 
his head and chuckled with evident satisfaction. 
“I knowed it jes’ to look at you, sah. Fust 
time I look at yo’ face I say to myself, ‘ Dere 
ain’t no ’ligion in dat man.’ I jes’ knowed it, 
ho! ho!” 

I was too much astonished at this reference 
to my want of a religious aspect even to answer 
Nellie’s peal of laughter, and before I could find 
a fit rejoinder to the captain’s power of obser- 
vation, he had begun again. 

“ I don’t count fo’ much in ’ligion myself 
Jes’ you do what’s right an’ good, an’ tell de 
truf an’ don’t steal an’ dem tings, an’ dere ain’t 
nothin’ goin’ to hurt you.” 

“ Why do you wear that rose in your hat, 
captain ?” Nellie asked. 

He took off his battered head-piece and 
looked at it, and then put it on again. “ Dere’s 
somethin’ nice ’bout a rose, miss ; I al’ays liked 
’em. An’ dem fedders was off’n a chicken I 

I 

217 


CAP^N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 

used ter have, but he got acciden’ly killed. I 
used ter tink a heap o’ dat chicken, an’ I war 
mighty lonesome when he died. He war de 
bestest fight’n’ chicken in B’muda.” He put 
his head down on his breast in his queer 
way and laughed softly to himself. Ho, 
ho, jes’ so; de gamiest fight’n’ chicken in 
B’muda !” 

We had left the islands behind us. To the 
north St. George’s was outlined in bluish haze, 
and the headlands which marked the entrance 
to Hamilton harbor, from which we had come, 
were several miles away. As we had tacked 
about in the bay, coming nearer with each new 
reach to the sea-line, Nellie had pleaded to go 
outside. “ It looks so lovely out there to-day,” 
she said, and to be really out at sea in a little 
boat like this !” 

I had asked the captain what he thought of 
it, and, after looking at the sky and the direction 
of the wind, and then at the eager face that was 
watching his, he had replied, “ I don’t mind fo’ 
myself, but dese B’muda wedders is mighty 

cur’ous, miss, an’ ” 

But, captain,” Nellie had interrupted, “ you 
know the * Mermaid’ can do anything ; and I do 
so love the sea !” 

“ Shu’ ’nough, shu’ ’nough, and de ‘ Mermaid' 
218 


CAP^N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 


like you to say dat ; de old gal kin do a heap, 
spesh’lly when she got all her calico on. I’ll do 
jes’ as you say, sah,” turning to me. 

As for me, the pleasure of seeing the old 
interest in life coming back to Nellie outweighed 
everything else. Besides, what danger could 
there be with such a sky and sea ? 

So we passed the headlands and the great 
dock-yard and the old British troop-ship 
anchored in the channel, and stood out to sea. 

What wonderful lights and shadows in the 
changing reefs of coral over which we sailed! 
Pale, whitish green, with streaks and wavy 
spaces of agate and amber running through it, 
and dark olive wreathed and garlanded with 
pearl, all around us and as far as we could see, 
like strange shadows of color on the sunlit 
waters, till we reached them and passed over 
them, and saw that the “shadows” were the 
coral reefs made visible in the marvellous clear- 
ness of the water. 

How soft the air was, and how easy the motion 
of the little yacht over the long, gentle swell of 
the sea ! 

I was lying down on the seat which ran along 
the sides of the boat at the stern and mingling 
the feeling of the ocean’s loneliness and vastness 
with the delicious sense of safety in the near- 
219 


CAP'N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 

ness of the islands yonder, when I heard the 
captain’s voice. 

“ Lawd ha’ mercy on us ! We mus’ get outer 
dis !” 

He was standing up and looking towards the 
islands ; and my heart seemed to stop beating 
as my eyes followed his. 

The wind had fallen, and came only in fitful 
spells, filling out the sail for a few moments, and 
then letting it swing idly to and fro with the 
swaying of the boat. Everything around us was 
the same as an hour before; but just visible 
behind the low-lying islands was a long line of 
uneven black cloud, with now and then a sudden 
glimmer of light flashing up from behind it. 

How many miles are we from Hamilton, 
captain ?” 

I was thinking of Nellie, and my voice 
sounded so strange even to myself that I hardly 
knew it for mine. 

’Bout five t’ousand, wid sech a wind as dis !” 
he muttered, without changing his position, and 
as if speaking to himself. “ Wid a little gal in 
de boat, too ! Dere’s mo’ fools livin’ dan what’s 
drowned.” 

Nellie had risen and had put her hand on my 
shoulder. 

What is it ?” she said ; and then, as her eyes 
220 


CAP^N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 

caught the view, “ Oh, how perfectly grand ! 
See how the light plays up behind it !” 

It did, indeed. The long black line had risen 
several feet already, and the flashes were so fre- 
quent and continuous as to seem one perpetually 
changing gleam. 

Not a sound had reached us. Even the little 
fitful wind had died entirely away, and there was 
a strange stillness everywhere. 

The captain turned to me. “ We’s in fo’ it, 
sah; mus* take in de washin’ an’ put a tuck 
in her clo’es ! De young lady better creep in 
for’rad an’ be out der way.” 

He ran forward as he spoke and hauled down 
the jib, and was busy taking a double reef in the 
main-sail the next minute. 

“ Nellie, dear, we are going to have a storm. 
The captain wants you to lie down under the 
little deck there, forward, where you will be out 
of harm’s way.” 

She did not speak for a few seconds. She 
only looked into my eyes, — and I read there, as 
clearly as if she had spoken, that she was think- 
ing of the mother who would be left alone. 
Then, with eyes full of tears that she held 
bravely back, No, I don’t want to go in there ; 
if the boat should go over, I should certainly be 
drowned. I’ll stay with you.” 

221 


CAP'N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 


“All right, miss; jes’ yo’ crunch down den 
an’ hold on tight. Dere’s goin’ to be lively 
times in dis boat befo’ long !” 

Captain Johnson was once more by the tiller. 
He reached under the seat and drew out the 
conch shell, and turning his face to the appall- 
ing, lightning-torn blackness that was rushing 
swiftly towards us, he sent out a deep booming 
note over the waves, like a mad challenge to 
the storm. 

The next moment there came a more vivid 
flash, and then the roll of heavy thunder. 

“ Ho, ho !” and he chuckled in his strange 
fashion. “ Make mo’ noise ’n dat myself 
Coin’ to make foam fly presen’ly; bet yo’ las’ 
shillin’ !” 

The whole west was now one sheet of black- 
ness. The sun was hidden ; the water seemed 
to have turned black, and a strange dark-green 
light was all around us. 

“ What are you going to do, captain ?” It 
was Nellie’s awe-struck voice that asked it. 

“ Coin’ to make fo’ St. Gawge’s, — las’ chance.” 

He had gripped the tiller like a vise, and was 
looking over his shoulder towards a place where 
the black water had suddenly turned into a white 
mist that hid islands and clouds and everything 
from view. 


222 


CAP^N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 


Git down, miss ! Hold on fo’ yo’ life, sah ! 
Now, den !’' 

There was a blaze of lightning and what 
seemed the crash of a thousand thunders ; and 
the little yacht was lifted up and shot forward 
as if flung from a catapult, in a wild, raging, 
whirling confusion of mist and spray and mad, 
racing waves. 

The shock had flung me from my seat, and I 
lay in the bottom of the boat, or rather off the 
bottom, for she was almost over as she raced like 
a wild, frightened thing through the hissing foam 
and fury of the storm. 

Nellie was lying near me, clinging with both 
hands to an iron ring in the inside sheathing, 
her white face turned to the sky, where no sky 
was, but only spume and spray driven pitilessly 
onward. I lay there, half-stunned by my fall 
and the awful tumult around me, and looked up 
at the captain. 

He had thrown himself against the tiller, and 
was holding it over with all his weight and 
strength, the cords and muscles of his neck and 
arms showing tense as steel. His precious hat 
was gone, and his head bent down against the 
wind, and streaming with the waves that broke 
and dashed all over him. 

How long it was, I do not know. Nellie, 
223 


CAP^N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 


home, friends, death, and life, each distinct and 
all together at once were upon my brain. It 
seemed as eternity — it seemed only a moment — 
till the captain suddenly let go the helm, and 
was on one knee beside Nellie, and shouting in 
her ear, — 

“ Let go dat ring, an’ do jes’ I tell you ! Put 
yo’ arms roun’ my waist, dat’s it, stan’ up an’ get 
outer deck wid me, quick, — dis boat gone ter 
hebben in a minute !” 

So sudden was it all that, as I sprang to my 
feet, I saw the captain and Nellie already standing 
on the little forward deck, his two strong hands 
holding hers. I saw in that same moment the 
wild, seething waves and a black something 
ahead that seemed falling upon us out of the 
white shroud of the spray; and I heard, or 
seemed to hear, a shout of “ Now, den, jump !” 

Then I knew no more. 

“ De good Lawd be praised ! he’s gwine to 
come roun’ yit.” 

I opened my eyes and looked slowly around 
me. I was lying on a bed in a small room, and 
an old negress was bending over me. A 
younger woman was near her ; and — yes, at the 
foot of the bed was Cap’n Johnsin,” his head 
bound up with a towel, but large as life and 
224 


CAP^N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 


grinning from ear to ear as he met my wonder- 
ing eyes. 

Dat’s it, sah ; nebber say die ! But you 
come mighty close to it, sah.” 

I raised myself on my elbow, and looked 
around the room. I wanted to say, “And 
Nellie ?” but I could not frame the words. But 
the old negress understood and gently pushed 
me down again. 

“Yo’ young missis is all safe, sah; she was 
dat done out an’ dead-like when de cap’n carried 
her up heah, dat she couldn’t eben t’nk. She’s 
in de nex’ room, sah; an’, bress her heart, a- 
sleepin’ like an angel.” 

I closed my eyes and thanked God. And 
then, as I closed them, I saw once more the 
storm-swept sea, and the yacht, and the great 
darkness coming towards us, — and then I looked 
again at Captain Johnson. 

“ How did I get here ?” 

For the first time that day he looked awkward 
and constrained. 

“Jes’ so, sah. Dere war a cove, sah, dat I 
knowed of — in St. Gawge’s — al’ays knowed it 
by de big black cliff, sah. An’ I made fo’ it, 
hopin’ de Lawd bring me inter it. But I miss 
it,* sah ; leas’wise de spray blin’ me so, I don’ 
see no cove. An’ den I see what cornin’, an’ I 
225 


*5 


CAP^N JOHNSIN, OF BERMUDA 

tuk de young miss an’ jump; an’ de swash war 
runnin’ like a ribber, an’ swep’ us roun’ an’ inter 
dat same old cove ! An’ mos’ knock de brains 
outer me again’ a rock.” 

He put his hand to his head, and touched the 
towel. 

“ But me ? How did I ” 

“ Jes’ so, sah. I laid de miss on de groun’, 
an’ run back — an’ dere’s you cornin’, no end 
fust an’ all ober like ! an’ I cotch you by de leg 
as you come in on de swash — an’ here you is, 
sah.” 

'' And the boat ?” 

“ Gone ter hebben, sah. Dere wasn’ nothin’ 
lef’ her when she strike dat cliff!” 

An hour afterwards we were all together before 
the fire, in the room where I had first gained 
consciousness. Nellie, dressed in the Sunday 
garments of the younger hostess, and looking 
very quaint as she sat in a big arm-chair ; I sit- 
ting near her, and Captain Johnson, standing at 
the corner of the open fireplace. 

“ Yes, captain,” Nellie was saying. “ You are 
right, after all ; it was the mercy of heaven that 
brought us through. But,” and she smiled at 
him gratefully, “ but I’m sorry you lost your 
hat.” ♦ 

The “ cap’n” put one hand to his breast, and, 
226 


CAP^N JOHNSIN OF BERMUDA 


after some shuffling, brought out his battered hat 
from under his jersey, where he had evidently 
put it in the first moment of disaster, — the rose 
crushed, and the feathers soaked and draggled. 

He turned it over and over, and squeezed the 
water out of it between his hands. I wouldn’ 
ha’ lost dem fedders fo’ de whole boat. I t’ought 
heap o’ dat ar chick’n, — I did !” 

Despite this rude experience, we had the sat- 
isfaction of seeing Nellie continue to gain in 
health ; and in another boat, in whose fitting out 
I was glad to have a hand, “ the cap’n” often 
took us out — a bit more cautiously, perhaps — 
over those strangely-tinted Bermudan waters. 


227 


“cA Close Shave” 


W ELL, I reckon you might call it so, — 
it was a close shave and no mistake.” 
The speaker was sitting on the “ treasure-box” 
of the Wells and Fargo Express Company, in 
the express-car of a train bound east on the 
Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad. I 
had gone back into the baggage-car to make 
sure that my trunk-checks were all right (for the 
hack-driver in Denver had attended to checking 
them for me, and I wanted to be certain that 
there was no mistake), and my attention was so 
taken by a man in the rear compartment of the 
car that I stood still awhile and looked at him. 
The car was divided by a partition, the forward 
part being devoted to baggage” and the after 
part to “ express ;” and through the open door 
I saw a man sitting on a heavily-ironed box, 
and carefully cleaning a revolver ; a wiry but 
muscular-seeming man with short, grayish hair, 
a dark moustache also sprinkled with gray, keen, 
dark eyes, and a look about his face that told 
of firmness and daring, — the kind of man you 
228 


M CLOSE SHAVE 


would like to know was near you if you were 
ever in a fight against odds. 

I watched him for a few minutes as he worked 
at his revolver, and then, with the freedom of 
travel on the far western roads fifteen years ago, 
I went into the compartment where he was and 
sat down on some mail-bags near him. 

As a way to opening conversation I offered 
him a cigar, and said, “You are the express 
agent, I suppose.” 

“ Yes,” he replied, laconically, laying down 
the pistol to light the cigar, and then taking it 
up again, with a nod to me as a kind of silent 
“ Thank you.” 

“ Have you been long with the company ?” 

“A good many years; used to run on the 
stages before the railroad crossed the plains.” 

“So!” 

He made no reply, and I presently tried 
another entering wedge: “You don’t expect to 
have to use that revolver, do you ?” 

“ No,” he answered, trying the lock as he 
spoke. “ Not much chance for it these days, — 
but one never knows. It may be a long time 
before you need it ; but when you do need it you 
need it bad.” 

“ More chance for it then, in the old staging 
days ?” I hinted. 


229 


M CLOSE SHAVE** 


** Y-e-s,” he said, slowly, as he put the car- 
tridges into their places. In them days it was 
six hundred miles of plains, with only horses to 
get you over them ; and the stations pretty far 
apart ; and roving bands of Indians apt as not 
to lay for the stage that they knew would be 
along somewhere. And there wasn’t much 
sleepin’ time for a man with gold bullion to take 
care of, — let alone his own hair. It used to be nip 

and tuck ^kem days. I mind one time ” 

The cigar was having its effect ; it was a good 
cigar, one of a special lot I had laid in for this 
trip, and he now knocked the ash off carefully 
and stopped, looking at it. “ If you’d care to 
hear ?” 

I did care to hear very much, and I told 
him so. 

“Well, ’taint much to tell, perhaps, after all; 
but it was lively, as far as it went, /ain’t likely 
to forget it. 

“The stage road lay along about here, fol- 
lowin’ the Arkansaw, pretty much as the rail- 
road does now. We could strike water for the 
horses this way, and anyhow here the road was. 
The passengers would ride inside, and me and 
the driver would be on the box in front, taking 
turns in driving, and keeping a sort of general 
lookout, especially when we got near the timber 
230 


M CLOSE SHAVE 


along the river where the red devils might be 
waiting for us. Sometimes we did have a scrim- 
mage with them ; but they were cowardly ras- 
cals, and seldom cared to come to close quarters 
with a stage full of white men with guns and 
revolvers, and ready for ’em. 

But one time they was a little too much for 
us. You see, there were soldiers at one of the 
stations, — a kind of fort-like, — and they’d had 
a brush with the Indians, and the story of it 
had been brought in by the last stage from the 
States to Denver : and when the stage was ready 
to start for the east, next day, not a passenger 
would go, — didn’t care to risk it till they got 
some more news. 

But the stage’d got to go ; and, as luck 
would have it, / had to go, there being a special 
lot of gold to send that day ; and so me and Bob 
had the whole stage to ourselves. Bob was the 
driver; a cheery, good-natured chap as I ever 
knowed, and a rare one to handle the ribbons. I 
mind, that morning, how he looked after the 
hitchin’ himself, and tried every strap and buckle, 
and patted the horses, and pulled their ears, and 
spoke to ’em, just as if they was human and 
could understand him. Bob always ’lowed 
they didy — but that has nothing to do with the 
story. 


231 


M CLOSE SHAVE*' 


** There was a lot of men standing round to 
see us off ; but instead of the usual fun and 
joking when the stage'd start, they shook hands 
with us in a solemn kind of way, and hoped we’d 
get through all right : it was kind of dismal. 
But when Bob climbed onto the box and took 
up the reins, and the four horses broke into a 
canter down the street, with me sittin’ beside 
him, and the empty stage rattlin’ behind us, they 
all gave a cheer ; and we took off our hats and 
waved them back to them, — and pretty soon we 
were all alone, with six hundred miles of desert 
and sage-brush before us. 

I won’t say we were scared ; but we were a 
little anxious. It looked as if the Indians were 
stronger and bolder than usual, — that their brush 
with the soldiers : but we were well armed, 
havin’ two repeatin’ rifles and revolvers apiece, 
and we had two pair of as good eyes for Indians 
as were in all Colorado. 

*‘So we weren’t scared, — not a bit; but we 
put our rifles handy, and loosened the revolvers 
that were strapped around our waists. 

And by and by, when mile after mile went 
away from under us, and the crisp October air 
was all around us, and the Spanish Peaks stood 
out fifty miles away on the right, but lookin’ as 
if just close to us, — well, you’ve been out here 

232 


M CLOSE SHAVE 


and you know how it is, and what an October 
morning in this Colorado country means. 

“ But, as I was sayin’, we got to jokin’ and 
tellin’ stories of time and ag’in when we’d licked 
the Indians off ; until, what with the stories and 
the air and the horses rattlin’ ahead of us, we 
got to wishin’ that the red devils would try it on 
and see what two white men could do for ’em. 

We got to the first station without anything 
unusual happening. It was only a few shanties 
and a stable and a rough sort of eatin’-house, all 
heaped together like, and a kind of stockade 
built around ’em. They was just for changin’ 
teams and such like, and not much to look at ; 
and when we clattered up and the men came 
out with fresh horses, before we could speak 
they called out to us, — 

“ ^ Hello, fellows ! Glad to see you alive. 
What’s the luck ?’ 

“ ‘ Luck’s all right,’ says I ; * but nary pas- 
senger to-day, boys. What’s the word about 
them Indians?’ 

‘‘ * Haven’t heard sence the last stage went 
west. No eastern stage in to-day and that 
looks kinder squally.’ 

“ Some talk went on while the horses were 
being changed, and we were getting our dinner, 
mostly ’bout the fight we’d heard of and the 
233 


M CLOSE SHAVE** 


chances ahead for us ; and then, with warnings 
from the station-men to keep our eyes peeled 
(and they were tolerable certain to keep peeled 
after bearin’ that the stage which was to meet 
us hadn’t got in), we got up again and soon left 
the station behind us. 

“We had twenty miles to go before we 
reached the next post, and then Bob and me 
would lay off for the night and take a rest 
spell ; and as the next station was the fort, and 
there was soldiers there, — a company of cav- 
alry, — we didn’t look much to meet any Indians 
till we were a good stretch on the other side. 

“ But we were mistaken. 

“The plain was just about as level as your 
hand. A good ways to the right we could see 
the Arkansaw, like gray-white ribbon, edged 
here and there with cotton-woods and brush ; 
but on the left, and behind us and before us, the 
plain stretched away until it met the sky with 
a kind of gray, curled grass lyin’ close to the 
ground, and dotted with sage-brush here and 
there. Nothin’ could come within miles of us 
without being seen in time. 

“ And mebbe it was the hasty dinner I’d had, 
or the horses trottin’ steadily ahead, or the 
jinglin’ of the harness; but I says at last to 
Bob, ^ Bob, there ain’t no use in two of us 
234 


M CLOSE SHAVE 


sittin’ up here and gettin’ cramps in our legs for 
nothin’, with an empty stage under us. Sup- 
posin’ I go inside and take a little snooze ? We 
had an awful early start this mornin’, and I was 
up most all night ; and if you see anythin’ sus- 
picious just blow your horn,’ says I, * and I’ll be 
with you in no time.’ 

“ ^ All right, Jim,’ says Bob ; ‘ ’tain’t no use, 
as you say, and I’ll sound up lively if I see 
anythin’.’ 

**So he drew in the horses, and I climbed 
down and got into the stage and stretched my- 
self out comfortable all over it, and soon wasn’t 
nowhere. Well, I don’t know how long I’d been 
asleep, and to this day I don’t know what had 
happened to Bob. Mebbe he had gone to sleep 
too ; for them drivers could hold the reins and 
drive on, fast asleep, and their hands ’d some- 
how keep awake and know what they was 
doing ; or mebbe he was lookin’ the wrong way 
and taken sudden like. I don’t know, and no 
one will ever know now. 

“ All I know is that I was waked with the 
quick, sharp ‘ crack-crack-crack’ of rifles and a 
sudden lurch of the stage that threw me on the 
floor. I was up on my knees and lookin’ out 
of the door the next second. The door was half 
glass, and the glass was down, like an open win- 

235 


M CLOSE SHAVE^^ 

dow (you’ve seen them stages). And this is 
what I saw : 

The road had turned down close to the trees 
and bush by the river ; but the stage had left the 
road and was tearing out over the plain, the horses 
on a gallop and everything rattlin’ like mad. The 
Indians, not less than fifty of them, mounted on 
ponies and swingin’ their guns and yellin’ like 
fifty thousand devils, were gallopin’ along on 
both sides of the stage and behind in — in easy 
rifle distance ; and I tell you it wasn’t exactly 
the nicest situation in the world to be shut up 
in a stage and takin’ a free ride to nowhere, with 
them Indians’ fixin’s thrown in. It was the big- 
gest circus I’d ever seen, and all under one tent. 

“ I saw in a minute what they was up to. I 
knew by the sun being pretty low that we weren’t 
far off the fort, and that the Indians meant to 
drive the stage-team ’way out on the plains ; 
and not knowin’ how many men might be inside 
it, and being always skeery of their own hides, 
they just kept screechin’ and yellin’ and gal- 
lopin’ along and makin’ our team tear faster. 

''What did I think? Well, I don’t know, 
stranger, that I thought of anything. It isn’t 
exactly the time to sit down quiet and think it 
over. I reckon at such times men do the actin’ 
first and think it over afterwards. But I’ll tell 
236 


CLOSE SHAVE 


you one thing, — I ain’t much of a religious man, 
and I don’t lay no claim to it, — but ever since 
that day I have believed in God.” 

He stopped speaking and thoughtfully re- 
lighted his cigar, which had gone out while he 
was talking, and then again took up his story. 

“ I had nothin’ with me but my two revolvers, 
and they wasn’t no use, even if I could have hit 
the screamin’ devils at that distance ; for they 
would have seen there was only one man, and 
would have closed in, and then it was all up 
with me. My rifle was on the box with Bob ; 
and as I’d heard no shot nor sound from him, 
and from the way the horses were tearin’ along 
I knew that he either wasn’t there or was lyin’ 
there dead, brought down by the shots that had 
woke rhe. 

“ It didn’t take half as long to see all this as it 
does to tell it. I saw it all in a kind of flash that 
first second I looked out of the door-window, 
and the next second I was half way out of that 
window, clean out of it, and swinging myself by 
one hand up onto the driver’s seat. The stage 
swung frightful, and it was no easy job to do it ; 
but I knew that my one hope was to turn the 
horses towards the fort and fight the yellin’ 
savages till I got where the scouts around the 
fort could see us. 


237 


M CLOSE SHAVE^ 


‘‘When I got onto the box, no Bob was 
there. The Indians stopped screechin’ when 
they saw me, seemin’ to be dumfounded at a 
man climbin’ up to his certain death ; but it was 
only for a minute, — as long as you could take a 
quick breath. 

“The reins had fallen down over the foot- 
board and were caught on the pole just below, 
and I reached over to catch them, and at that 
minute came the crack of twenty rifles, and the 
horses gave an extra leap, and I pitched for- 
ward over the foot-board down among the flyin’ 
hoofs and wheels, and then I lay there like a 
dead man on the plain. 

“At first I thought I was dead, the whole 
thing was so sudden; but not a hoof nor a 
wheel had touched me, and that leap of the 
horses had so far saved me, for there wasn’t the 
scratch of a bullet on me either, so far as I 
could feel. 

“ I didn’t dare raise my head, I didn’t even 
open my eyes ; but for a minute or two my ears 
could hear the grass growin’. 

“ I was lyin’ on my face, just as I fell, and I 
expected every minute to feel a hand in my 
hair and the knife cuttin’ around it; but it 
didn’t come, and I could tell by the rattle of 
the stage growin’ fainter, and the yells goin’ 
238 


CLOSE SHAVE'^ 


along with it, that the Indians supposed they 
had shot me when I fell, and that now they were 
after the others who they thought were inside. 

‘‘ I lay there listenin’, flat on my face, and not 
darin’ to move. They might come back, or 
mebbe there were stragglers behind ; and if I 
got up and tried to run for it, they had eyes 
like hawks and I’d surely be seen on that flat 
plain, and I’d have no chance against their 
ponies. So I lay there listenin’ a while longer, 
and then I lifted my head just enough to get 
my eyes so that I could see out a little. 

They had gone after the stage, sure enough, 
and were still yellin’ and gallopin’ along with it 
and firin’ at it every now and then, but not 
goin’ too near it, not bein’ sure, you see, that 
the men inside were not waitin’ for a good 
chance to knock them over. But I knew that 
wouldn’t last much longer, and then they were 
dead certain to come back after my scalp, 
which they were tolerable sure to get if I 
stayed there and kept it ready for them. 

‘‘So I turned my head round slow and 
looked behind me. The sun was gone down 
and things was gettin’ a little dim, but I could see 
where the river was by the trees and brush that 
I told you of, and I wasn’t long in makin’ up my 
mind to get there and take cover. 

239 


CLOSE SHAVE' 


“So I sort of shoved myself around, and 
started crawling. I’d reach out my hands and 
grab the grass-roots, and then pull myself along 
with my head flat down, for I didn’t dare at first 
to raise it, except to see that I was goin’ straight. 
But I got tired of that way of travellin’ after a 
few rods or so, and I ventured a little run on my 
hands and knees, droppin’ down flat again after 
every run. Then I made the runs longer and a 
little longer, and my heart was fairly in my 
mouth, sort of chokin’ me, when the last run 
carried me into the brush, and I saw the branches 
of the cotton-woods above me as I lay panting 
on the ground. 

“ But it wasn’t long till my heart was in my 
mouth another way. The brush was very high 
and the fringe of trees was pretty thin ; cotton- 
woods ain’t much of trees any way. I had gone 
to the edge of the river for a drink, for I was 
dry as dust and ’most dead for water, and if I 
could have swum I’d have taken to the river and 
tried to get off that way ; but I didn’t know how, 
and I lay there a while, thinkin’ of the next 
thing to do. If the brush had gone any length 
along the stream nothing would have been easier 
to do than to work along through it to the fort ; 
but it was only a patch like, and then the plain 
was all open again ; and, besides, the full moon 
240 


M CLOSE SHAVE 


was up now, and you know how the moonlight 
is ’most clear as sunlight out here, sort of steel- 
white, like them electric lights on poles they 
have East now. 

So I got up, and was goin’ to the other side 
to have a look at the plain, movin’ along slow 
and cautious, when all of a sudden I heard the 
^ thud-thuddy-thud’ of horses’ hoofs, so close 
that they must have come up while I was 
drinkin’ and thinkin’ at the river, and I dropped 
on my hands and knees as if I’d been shot, and 
had another game of listenin’ to the grass 
growin’. 

I couldn’t see out through the bushes ; but 
they must have seen the branches wavin’ as I 
came through ’em, for they had come to a stop 
outside and seemed to be consultin’. I could 
hear their jabber, and one of ’em, who seemed 
to be the chief, was giving orders, only I couldn’t 
make out anythin’, never havin’ been a hand for 
pickin’ up Indian language; but I could hear 
the trottin’ around of the ponies, and I guessed 
they was afraid to try me on foot, and were 
gettin’ up some stratagem in those sneakin’ 
heads of theirs. 

But if they thought they was goin’ to have 
me for nothing, they was going to be curiously 
mistaken. I took out my two revolvers and 

i6 241 


’A CLOSE SHAVE 


cocked ’em, taking one in each hand, and rising 
up on my knees ; I daren’t stand up, ’cause my 
head would come above the bushes, and I daren’t 
move round ’cause the shakin’ of the bushes 
would have drawed their fire and I’d have been 
riddled as full of holes as a corn-sieve; so I 
faced ’em on my knees and waited for their 
deviltry to begin. 

“ I heard some more sounds of talkin’, and 
I’d given one of my six-shooters to have 
understood what they was sayin’, and have 
knowed what they was up to; but they was 
talkin’ low and whisperin’ like, so that, even if 
I’d knowed their lingo, I wouldn’t have been 
any wiser. 

“ Then I heard what sounded like men getting 
off their horses and the ‘ click’ of carbines, and 
I knowed by the sounds that they was spread 
considerable along the front ; and then, — great 
sakes ! will I ever forget it ? — then came a voice 
of thunder, ‘ Surrender, you infernal redskins, or 
I’ll send you to the devil, where you belong !’ 

“Yell? Well, I guess they thought for a 
minute they’d struck a whole tribe ! 

“ I flung down my revolvers and jumped up 
and rushed out through the bushes, calling out 
who I was ; and if they wasn’t the most surprised 
troop of Uncle Sam’s cavalry ! Well, blow me, 
242 


CLOSE SHAVE 


there they were, standing out in the moonlight 
clear as day, and as much taken aback at seein’ 
who they’d been ambushin’ as I was to see who 
had been ambushin’ me. 

“You see, they’d been anxious at the fort 
’bout the stage coming, and when it wasn’t 
sharp on time the colonel had sent out the 
troop to look for it, and while they was skir- 
mishin’ round, one of ’em had seen the bushes 
waving and signalled the rest, and that’s how 
they thought they’d got the redskins corralled 
instead of me. 

“ The stage ? Oh, yes, they got the stage all 
right, all that was left of it; the horses were 
gone, and every bit of leather cut off and the in- 
sides all ripped up and carried away. The treas- 
ure-box was all right, too ; they didn’t have no 
way to carry off a heavy thing like that, and it 
wouldn’t have been no use to ’em, anyway. 

“ But that failin’ down over them horses, and 
the pitch they gave as them rifles were fired, and 
not a hoof nor a wheel to touch me !” 

“ It was a close call,” I said, as I got up from 
the mail-bags on which I had been sitting ; “ it 
is next to a miracle that you are alive to tell it.” 

“ Well,” he replied, smiling grimly, “ I reckon 
you might call it so. It was a close shave and 
no mistake.” 


243 


The Reverend Mr. Higgintons Pri{e 
Story 



‘HE Reverend Joel Higginton was sitting 


J- before the fire with ‘‘The Young Folks’ 
Comrade” in his hand. It was an evening in 
March, and the wind whistled down the gulch 
and whirled sand and dust into the faces of the 
miners and stamp-mill men coming home from 
their work, till their cheeks and eyes smarted as 
if fine needles had been thrown at them. 

They did not mind it; nobody minded any- 
thing up there in the Rocky Mountains so long as 
the yellow gold could be taken from the hills and 
the stamp-mills kept up their steady pounding. 

The minister sitting in his study was not even 
conscious that the windows were almost rattling 
their panes out. He was not reading : the hand 
that held the paper had fallen to his side, and 
he was staring absent-mindedly into the fire. 
His wife was sitting opposite, darning a stock- 
ing and softly humming a tune. 

“ I believe,” said the minister, suddenly, “ I 
believe I could do it. There’s no harm in try- 


MR. HIGGINTON^S PRIZE STORY 


ing, anyway ; and it’s a small fortune if I should 
happen to win.” 

His wife stopped humming and looked up : 
“ What are you thinking of doing, dear ?” 

Well, h’mm ; there’s a list of prizes offered 
here, in this paper ; a lot of money, — big and 
little, — and it seems to be just in my line.” 

** What are the prizes for ? For sermons or 
book agencies or something ?” 

** No, no,” he answered, impatiently, for the 
idea had taken strong hold of him. “ The prizes 
are given for stories, — a special prize for the best 
minister’s story. I believe I can write a good 
one. I’ve got the plan of a first-rate one in my 
mind.” 

The partner of his . bosom let the stocking fall 
into her lap and stared across at him. ‘‘Joel 
Higginton ! A prize story ?” Her look changed 
to one of anxiety: “You have been working 
too hard, lately, and your mind is unsettled, 
dear. Better take a good hot mustard bath, and 
go to bed early to-night.” 

Mr. Higginton was a little nettled at both the 
look and the tone. “You needn’t look at me, 
Maria, as if you thought I’d lost my senses. I 
know what I’m about. Here is an offer of a 
thousand dollars for the first prize, — and why 
shouldn’t I get it as well as anybody ?” 

245 


MR. HIGG INTONES PRIZE STORY 


“ But you never wrote a story in your life, 
Joel !” 

“ Well, it’s time I began, then. It’s all per- 
fectly simple. The story is to have only three 
thousand words, and it is to be taken from a 
minister’s own life, and there mustn’t be the 
least bit of love or religion in it.” 

“ Good land ! a minister’s story, and not a 
bit of religion in it ? What kind of a heathenish 
minister do they take you to be ?” 

“Oh, it’s all right, — I think I know what 
they mean. I’ve got just the kind of story they 
want in my head. And the thousand dollars, 
Maria, will send John to college. You know 
how we’ve worked and saved and prayed for 
that the last three years.” 

The good wife sighed, and began to slowly 
darn the stocking again. “Yes, dear; we’ve 
tried hard, and we are as far away from it as 
ever. If you only could get it, Joel !” and she 
looked at him wistfully : “ but I’m afraid it takes 
a lot of experience to do that sort of thing.” 

“ Not a bit of it,” he answered, cheerfully ; 
“ all you need is to have an idea in your mind, — 
and then all the rest is easy. ‘ Strike while the 
iron is hot,’ says an old proverb, and I’m going 
at it now while the spirit is on me.” 

He got up and lighted the lamp, and arranged 
246 


MR. HIGG INTON'S PRIZE STORY 


paper and pens and ink upon the table, and sat 
down in a pleasurable excitement to begin his 
work. Mrs. Higginton caught the infection of 
his eagerness, and turned her chair so that she 
might watch him, and her darning-needle clicked 
faster as she began to measure what his success 
would mean to their only son. 

He wrote steadily for more than an hour, 
with occasional pauses, when he would stare in- 
tently at the ceiling with half-shut eyes. Once 
he stopped to say, “ A story has to be bright 
and pointed. Most of the stories that I’ve seen 
lately are too dull and prosy; but I’ve got 
something here, I think, that will arouse interest 
from the start.” At last he pushed back his 
chair : ** This is the way it begins. I will read 
it to you, and you can tell me what you think 
of it.” 

He began to read, with something of a ner- 
vous tremor in his voice: *‘A Clear Case of 
Providence.” That is the title. I must have 
something striking, you know, to arrest atten- 
tion. 

“ In the year 1620 the ship ' Mayflower’ was 
ploughing the mighty deep, and the noble band 
of heroes was assembled in the cabin. The 
tenets of their faith had been strengthened by 
the efforts of Laud to restrict the freedom of 
247 


MR. HIGGINTON'S PRIZE STORY 


the so-called Dissenters in their worship ; and 
their distinctive Calvinistic doctrines had taken 

stronger hold upon their consciences Eh ? 

What did you say ?” The needle had given a 
sharp click and had suddenly stopped, and he 
looked up inquiringly. 

Why, Joel, that doesn’t sound like a story; 
and don’t you think that you’ve got some re- 
ligion in it already ?” 

Pshaw, — you don’t know anything about it ! 
This is only the introduction. I have to make 
things plain to begin with, and what I’ve writ- 
ten is to prepare the mind for what comes after. 
I’ve only got the introduction done, so far.” 

“ How many words have you written ?” 

” I don’t know. I’ll count them and see.’’ 
He ran his pen over the words, checking them 
off two at a time. Then he looked down at the 
sheets of paper and across at his wife dubiously. 

I’ve written fifteen hundred.” 

“ That’s half the story, — and the story hasn’t 
begun yet. How will you ever get it in ?” 

He turned over the written sheets in a puz- 
zled kind of way. I guess I’ll have to leave 
out some of the opening part of it. But it 
really belongs to the story.” 

“ Hadn’t you better start over again and be- 
gin at the other end ?” 


248 


MR, HIGGINTON^S PRIZE STORY 


Maria !” he said, impressively, you had 
better attend to your stockings, and leave the 
story-writing to me. I think I understand my 
own business.” 

But his wife’s hint had given him a new idea, 
and he took fresh paper and began once more ; 
writing more slowly this time, with more fre- 
quent pauses and many erasures and corrections 
as he went on. At the end of half an hour he 
gathered up his papers and turned triumphantly 
to his waiting listener. “ I’ve got it now. I 
haven’t got very far ; but all I needed was to get 
a start. I’ll swing along now. This is the way 
it goes. 

“‘A store-keeper in Central City, named 
Mason, had failed in business and had sold 
everything he had to pay his debts. He had 
paid every dollar due his creditors, but he had 
left himself and his family penniless. He knew 
nothing about mining ; but, as he lived in the 
gold country, he got a pick and a pan and went 
over to Jim Creek to prospect for gold. A lit- 
tle mining had been done along Jim Creek, and 
it had never paid well; but it was the only 
place where all the claims were not taken, and 
he went over there to see what he could do.’ 

“ That’s as far as I’ve got.” 

“ But, Joel, that’s all true : Mr. Mason, poor 
249 


MR, HIGGINTON'S PRIZE STORY 


man, called here to say good-by two weeks ago. 
That isn’t a story.” 

“Not a story? I’d like to know what it is, 
then ! A story must have a basis of fact, you 
know.” 

“ And what are you going to make out of it ? 
What is the next thing ?” 

“ The next thing ? I — well — I don’t exactly 
know. I don’t seem to — to see my way 
exactly.” He rubbed his left ear thoughtfully. 
“ I might work Mrs. Mason and the children in 
somehow. A story needs something pathetic in 
it — to make a contrast.” 

“ And what has this to do with the ' May- 
flower’ and the heroes and all that ?” 

“ Maria, you are a good woman, but you don’t 
know anything about writing stories. This is 
a different thing altogether, and the ^ Mayflower’ 
doesn’t come in.” 

At that moment there came a knock at the 
outer door, and Mrs. Higginton went to answer 
it. She came back with a miner who lived next 
door, and who often dropped in to spend the 
evening. The visitor sat down, and, after a few 
general remarks, turned to the minister, who 
was still sitting by the table. 

“Writing your sermon, I see. It beats me 
how you can write so many sermons ; but you 
250 


MR. HIGGINTON'S PRIZE STORY 


won’t have so much of a congregation to preach 
to next Sunday, I reckon. There’s goin’ to be 
a regular stampede over to Jim Creek.” 

“ To Jim Creek ?” Mr. Higginton and his wife 
exchanged glances. “ What has happened over 
there ?” 

Haven’t you heard ? Why, that man Mason, 
who doesn’t know blossom-rock from a cobble- 
stone, has hit his luck and struck it rich, they 
say. Beats all how some men chance them 
things.” 

Has he really found gold ?” 

“ Found it? He’s up to his neck in it, if all 
they say is true. You know what he done, — 
how he cleaned out his last dollar, house and 
furniture and everything, to pay what he owed. 
He’s straight. Mason is. A prayin’ chap, too ; 
not my kind, you know, parson, — but one can’t 
help believin’ in a man that lives it out square 
like him. And they say that he prayed over in 
Jim Creek to be showed the right spot, and that, 
by crackey, he hit it the first time ! If there was 
anything in that way o’ doin’, the whole minin’ 
country’d be down on its knees. Anyways, he 
struck it rich, and he’s called his mine ‘The 
Providence,’ so there might be something in it 
after all.” 

When the visitor had gone, Mr. Higginton 
251 


MR. HIGGINTON'S PRIZE STORY 


addressed his wife. “ There, Maria, the whole 
story is plain now, and I can write it easily. That 
praying and being led to the right spot was very 
remarkable. I’ll make a great hit with it.” 

“ But that would bring in religion, Joel, and 
you said that the story mustn’t have any religion 
in it.” 

He looked at her blankly. ‘^Y-e-s, — that’s 
so. I’ll have to leave that out, and it’s the most 
interesting thing in the whole of it.” He studied 
over what he had already written, and then threw 
it impatiently down, “ Blame take it ! this story- 
writing isn’t half as easy as it looks !” 

“ Joel !” the tone was one of shocked surprise. 

“ Well, I don’t care, Maria. If he had tossed 
a nickel, ‘ heads or tails,’ for his old mine, it 
would have been all right; but now it’s all 
wrong, and it mustn’t go into the story ! Why, 
it spoils the whole thing, and if I had my 
way ” 

The study-door opened, and a bright-looking 
lad of seventeen years came in and took a seat 
by the fire. ‘‘ It’s a howling night,” he said, 
with a pleasant smile ; “ but I was paid for my 
walk to the post-office. I got a letter from Mr. 
Mason, from Jim Creek. He wants me to go 
over there ; he says that he can give me some- 
thing to do.” 


252 


MR. HIGGINTON'S PRIZE STORY 


His mother showed her surprise and pleasure 
in her face. “ Why, that’s fine, John ! We’ve 
been thinking about you all evening, and your 
father is working now at a plan for sending you 
to college. But if it fails, you will have made a 
start in business, anyway.” 

“ Oh, it isn’t much,” he replied; ‘‘just to keep 
tally of the amount of ore that’s taken out, and 
such things ; the wages will be small. But what 
is the plan ?” he asked, turning to his father. 

Mr. Higginton fumbling his papers without 
replying, his wife broke in, “ He is writing a 
prize story. He expects to get a thousand 
dollars, and the queer thing is that it is all about 
Mr. Mason and his finding the mine.” 

John’s face had much the same expression as 
his mother’s at the minister’s first announce- 
ment of his intention. “ Writing a story ! You 
can write rattling good sermons, father, but I 
shouldn’t think that stories were much in your 
line.” 

“ Oh, it’s a very simple matter,” replied Mr. 
Higginton, brightening up again at the frank 
admission of his power as a sermon writer. 
“All one needs is to have something interest- 
ing to tell, and then to — to — well, to tell it in 
the right way, — in short, to make a story of it.” 

“That sounds easy,” said John. “And you 

253 


MR, HIGGINTON^S PRIZE STORY 


must know a lot of interesting things. Let’s 
hear how it goes.” 

Mr. Higginton glaced uncertainly at the 
papers on the table. I — I’ve only just begun 
it. I didn’t know until this evening of Mr. 
Mason’s good fortune. But I began with the 
account of his sad failure here, and now it will 
be the simplest thing in the world to make a 
story out of it.” 

“Of course it will!” cried John, enthusias- 
tically. “I see it all. You’ll make him find a 
vein of solid gold two hundred feet thick, or 
buy an island in the South Sea full of diamonds 
and pirates ; or fall down the shaft and kill him- 
self, and the mine be closed up by an earthquake. 
You’ve got a big chance in that story. It’s 
great I” 

His father looked at him in something like 
dismay. The imaginative vein in Mr. Higgin- 
ton had never been cultivated, and anything like 
these startling climaxes had not entered his 
mind ; but they seemed to open possibilities. 

“You think,” he said, doubtfully, “that an 
ending like that would take best ?” 

“ It will take like a house a-fire. It’s a young 
people’s paper, you know, and that’s just what 
they want. Put in plenty of pirates, — the more 
pirates you get in the better I” 

254 


MR. HIGGINTON'S PRIZE STORY 


My dear Joel,” said Mrs. Higginton, “ there 
can’t be any pirates in a * minister’s story,’ — 
unless he was a missionary among cannibals, 
or something. And besides ” 

“ The very thing !” exclaimed Mr. Higginton ; 
“ it’s all plain as a book now. I’ll just make an 
outline of it, and then I’ll have nothing to do 
but fill it in. Don’t say anything now to call 
my mind away from it.” 

He arranged his papers once more and began 
to write, with brooding silences between the 
scratchings of his pen. After a while, his wife 
went quietly from the room, beckoning to John 
to follow ; and when she looked in again for a 
silent ‘‘good-night,” Mr. Higginton was still 
bending with knitted brows over the table. The 
fire had been dead for an hour and the lamp was 
flickering out for want of oil when he at last 
laid down his pen. He had written and changed 
and rearranged his outline till he had it to his 
liking ; and the lamp had given its last flicker 
when he finally gave up his work for that night, 
with the pleased consciousness that it fulfilled 
every condition. 

The outline ran as follows : 

1. Mr. Mason fails in business and goes pros- 
pecting to Jim Creek. 

2. He finds a rich mine and resolves to con- 

255 


MR. HIGGINTON^S PRIZE STORY 


vert cannibals. (N.B. — Leave out the praying, 
and say as little about the converting as pos- 
sible.) 

3. He sails for the South Seas and takes a 
missionary along. The ship stops at an un- 
known island full of pirates and diamonds. 
Some of the pirates are converted and the rest 
killed. (N.B. — Not sure about the killing ; might 
be better to convert them all.) 

4. They load the ship with diamonds. An 
earthquake swallows up the islands and the 
ship, and the missionary escapes on a raft to 
tell the tale. (N.B. — Have the raft made ready 
in time; couldn’t make it in an earthquake. 
Perhaps would improve the story to have the 
missionary swallowed up too.) 

“ There,” he said to himself. “ It has a basis 
of fact, and it brings in John’s pirates and the 
earthquake, — that was a capital idea, and it’s a 
minister’s story besides. There’s no love in it, 
and very little religion, and there’s plenty of 
pirates. It ought to take the first prize !” And 
he went to bed and fell asleep calculating how 
far a thousand dollars would carry John through 
college. 

He could talk of nothing else at breakfast 
next morning ; and when John was on the stage 
and the driver cracked his whip and shouted, 
256 


MR, HIGGINTON^S PRIZE STORY 


“ All aboard for the new gold-fields !” Mr. Hig- 
ginton called out cheerily, “ Good-by, my son ; 
we’ll have our own gold-field very soon.” 

He worked steadily at the story for the next 
few days, and at length the precious manuscript 
was finished, and carefully copied, and sent away. 
Three months was the period named by the 
editors for the examination of competing stories ; 
and though he could not hope to have news of 
it before the appointed time, he had it contin- 
ually in mind, and fairly bore down his wife’s 
doubts and fears by the strength of his own 
convictions. As the fatal day drew near he 
was restless and expectant. He was at the 
post-office half an hour ahead of time; and 
when the distribution of the mail began he 
kept his eye on his own box, and when a letter 
was put in it sideways, he tried to see under it 
and to make out where it was from. When the 
box-window opened and he received his mail, 
he would even ask the postmaster if he was 
sure that everything which belonged to him was 
there. 

It happened once that the night mail had not 
arrived; some accident had delayed it, — and, 
after waiting an hour, he had arranged with the 
postmaster to send his letters to the house in 
the morning before breakfast. When he came 
257 


17 


MR, HIGGINTON’S PRIZE STORY 


to the table in the morning, there were several 
letters and newspapers by his plate, but he had 
eyes for only one ; and he looked at that one 
with a stunned sort of feeling in his head and a 
queer choke in his throat. 

It was a large, square, yellow envelope, and 
in the upper left-hand corner were the printed 
words, “The Young Folk’s Comrade.” 

He took it up with trembling fingers and 
opened it. Yes, it was the manuscript which he 
had sent three months before ; and with it was 
a formal, printed slip, — kindly worded but un- 
mistakable in meaning. “The editors regret 
that the enclosed manuscript is not available 
for their magazine, but they thank you for sub- 
mitting it in competition for the prizes offered 
for the best minister’s story.” 

He tried to smile in a feeble way, and looked 
waveringly at his wife, who was sitting opposite. 
“ They — it — the story is sent back. They say 
it isn’t available.” 

Mrs. Higginton seemed to have changed her 
mind about it suddenly. “ Never mind, dear. 
I’m sure it was as good as the best of them ; 
and you never can tell how those things are 
managed. It ought to have taken the prize, any- 
way.” And she poured a good cup of coffee 
and passed it over to him. “ There’s a letter 
258 


MR. HIGGINTON^S PRIZE STORY 


there from John, and another in a handwriting 
I don’t know. Let us hear what our boy has 
to say.” 

He opened the other first and glanced at it, 
and then read it again slowly, with such an ex- 
pression on his face that his wife could wait no 
longer. “What in the world is it, and what 
makes you look so ?” 

“It’s — it’s from Mr. Mason. Listen to this, 
Maria.” 

“My dear Mr. Higginton, — I had a talk 
with your son last night, and he told me of your 
writing a prize story about me and mine, in the 
hope of getting money to send him to college. 
I don’t take much stock in the story-writing 
business. But I know you and your work, and 
I’ve taken a great liking for John, and so far as 
the money is concerned. I’ll see John through 
college, and I know he will be a credit to us all. 
Please let me know if this is agreeable to you ; 
and don’t think it’s any great thing for me to do, 
for I have been blessed beyond all expectation. 

“Sincerely yours, 

“ R. Mason.” 

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then 
Mrs. Higginton smiled through her tears. “ And 
259 


MR. HIGGINTON^S PRIZE STORY 


it was your story, after all, that did it, Joel. It 
took the first prize.” 

“ So it did,” he replied, tapping the rejected 
manuscript cheerfully with his finger. “ It is 
‘ a clear case of Providence.’ ” 


THE END. 


Electrotyped and Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, 
Philadelphia, U.S.A. 


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